Who's Gonna Save Me?
by ItFeelsSoWrite
Summary: AU set in Chicago, USA. With adulthood comes more of the same, with higher stakes and everything to lose. Caught in a world of drugs and violence, who will save whom? Or will they merely go down swinging?
1. The One Where Naomi Wants Out

**Chapter One:**  
**The One Where Naomi Wants Out**

"Tell me again how we can make four grand in a night and yet still not have our own bedrooms?" Naomi posed the inquiry, more to moan than anything else. With wistful eyes, she imagined the traffic outside her window did not exist, in its stead only trees and birds and maybe, far off in the distance to where she could walk if she had to, a supermarket.

Behind her in the wide open space of their shared studio apartment, Cook stood in nothing but his tidy whities, contemplating two pairs of pants. Naomi didn't quite care for the view of the city life beneath her, but if it meant not giving Cook the delight of an audience, she'd sit sentinel all day. In Cook's delay, Naomi decided to inch toward her sardonic quota of the day."Oh, that's right, a quarter of it goes to rent, and the rest goes right back into the job."

"'oohs goh' yer knickers ina bunch, babe?" Cook grunted in his thick Derby accent, choosing gray denim jeans over black slacks, tugging them snug until they hugged his hips.

"Life?" Naomi suggested as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, ashing her cigarette outside the window before taking another drag.

Naomi could hear the jingle of a belt as Cook fastened his, as well as the shift in the location of his voice as he presumably turned to inspect himself in the mirror. "You weren't complainin' 'bout the money a month ago."

"I changed my mind. Sue me."

"Mooch sooneh fook y'm'self 'fore lettin' the court do it for me, sweets."

Naomi turned her head for the sole purpose of shooting Cook a look of death. He returned it with a toothy grin. With a roll of her eyes, she flicked the spent filter out the window, aiming for a passerby but hitting only cement. "Perfect," she muttered before tugging the window pane down and locking it back in place.

"I get it. It beats McDonald's. I'm just saying for a job I could spend ten to life for if I get caught, you'd think a lady could have some privacy." Naomi draped herself across the couch, face-down into the leather cushions. She heard the creak of the armrest as Cook perched himself atop it, slipping on a pink polo.

"Nievuh oov us kin keep a tidy job fer longer th'n'a day n'you know thahs the troof. I'd end up fookin' th'boss's daughter 'n y'wouldn' geh pahs a day wifout tellin' some pig t'prick 'imself wif 'is own dick. Sellin's whut we're good at."

"Why are you talking like you're trying to sell _me_ on the job? I'm not cutting out. I'm just-"

"Bleedin' like a stuck pig?"

"You're the pig."

"Yer talkin' like we're piss poor. Look, babe, if y'need soom plug money, I'llechu borrow a coupla bucks."

Naomi rolled over on her back, narrowing her eyes up at Cook. "Really. How is it possible to be so simultaneously charming and disgusting?"

"Y'think'm charmin'?"

"I'm speaking objectively. _Some_ women think you're charming." Naomi closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before releasing the capacity of her lungs. Before she could repeat the exercise, she felt a strong hand lift her head and shoulders off the couch as if she weighed no more than a watermelon. Cook slid off the armrest into the void he had just created before dropping Naomi's head into his lap. She thought to sit up, but his fingers were already running through her hair. She'd be loathe to admit it, but his calloused fingertips rubbed her scalp exactly where she needed it.

"Naoms, if y'want out, jus' say the word. I'll take yer clients, take the risk. Johnny wasn' thah fond of you taggin 'long wif me anyway. 'e'll be 'appy yer out. I'll still make the same dough, you can jump from restaurant to restaurant 'til yeh can' walk into one wifout a bad referral in someone's ear and we'll buy one of dem room dividers. I'm not _not_gonna walk 'round starkers, though. Man's gotta 'ave freedom in 'is own 'ouse."

Naomi bit back the curl of her lip as she fought a smile, slowly shaking her head. "I don't want to sit up at night wondering if you're in a jail cell until you get home. With the two of us pushing product, we're in by two and neither of us are out a roommate. As long as we're here, Johnny can go fuck himself. I'm just saying . . . maybe we stop being here soon."

"Whot, like move?"

"To somewhere where five-hundred square feet _doesn't_ cost $875? I can't say I'd be against the idea."

Cook leaned his head far back, eyes darting across the ceiling as he utilized it as his own personal whiteboard, adding up numbers to subtract, carrying the one. His lips ghosted the narration of his progress, fingers now drumming lightly against Naomi's scalp as his focus poured into the mental math.

"Yeah. Yeah, we kin do thah'," he nodded, each consecutive bob of his head growing more assured. "Figure anovuh coople o'months t'save and get squared away wif Johnny, we could go somewhere. Maybe pack oop and 'ead to Denver. Spliffs on the fron' porch!" Cook pinched his thumb and index finger together to his lips, sucking in a satisfying imaginary hit before exhaling imaginary smoke through a laugh.

Naomi reached up and took the invisible joint from Cook's hand, taking a hit of her own before blowing it back into his face with a smirk.

"Yeheahah! Whot the 'ell are we doin' 'ere? Le's do our time'n fookin' bail. Nothin' in Chicago we 'aven't already seen." The sincerity in Cook's voice was the kicker; he'd earned a Naomi Campbell smile, teeth and all.

"Thank tits, yes!" Naomi exhaled in relief, shaking her hands up towards the sky, as if God wanted any credit for their debauchery.

"Oi, 'ey, 'ow 'bout a spliff 'fore we 'it the Deep? Y'know, t' celebra'e!"

Letting her actions do the talking, Naomi leaned forward toward the coffee table, groping at an intricate stash box, flipping first the latch, then the lid open. Plucking out an already-rolled blunt and a lighter, both with the same hand, she rose the blunt as an offering to Cook's lips, who readily pursed it between his lips. Falling back into his lap, Naomi struck the lighter and held it up until Cook mumbled a quick, "go' it!" through a puff of smoke.

* * *

As the blonde duo approached the neon sign and faintly pounding music of Skin Deep, arguably the best club for house music on Printer's Row, Naomi watched through a haze of cigarette smoke as Cook rifled through his wallet, counting his bills.

"Oof, runnin' low on dough," he mumbled, flipping through a twenty, a five and four singles. "Naoms, think y'kin spot me covah tonigh'?"

Naomi pursed her cigarette between her lips, putting up a finger to signal 'one moment' as she dug her own wallet from the inner pocket of her jacket, her tights offering no cargo space. Propping open the trifold, the tip of her cigarette drooped with the pout of her lip. She took a heavy drag, stashed her wallet away, and plucked the cigarette from her lips with a shake of her head.

"I've got seven in cash," she reported woefully amidst her cloud, slowing her stroll in time with Cook as they neared the bouncer and small queue.

"Fook. Looks like we gotta make a sale 'fore we kin get cozy." Cook looked around before jerking his head in the direction of the side alley. Naomi followed his lead. "I can' wait oontin I'm twen'y-one. Twen'y a night is killin' me."

Checking the brick wall for piss, vomit, semen or any vile combination of the three before leaning back against it, Naomi snuffed her cigarette against the mortar, tossing the filter into the nearby dumpster. Cook thumped an idle beat on the thin sheet metal, bobbing his head to whatever song he had decided to serenade Naomi with, eyes always out towards the street as he scanned for familiar faces, as well as uniforms.

Naomi could just barely make out the lyrics of the remix currently playing. With a little help from her memory, she could imagine which colored lights and what style of strobe were pulsing. It was a Friday night; the easiest night to do business if they got in early enough. Even at . . . Naomi dug out her cell and looked at the time . . . 10:17, the dance floor was most certainly packed body to body. It was the perfect cover, so long as both parties knew what they were doing.

She had found the eight balls of methamphetamine in their apartment before she was even aware Cook sold. It made sense, though. He'd been piss poor the second he turned his back on his father; without jumping hoops for the government, his lack of U.S. citizenship kept him from finding a convenient, legal job. Yet he had found the money to get them both out of Gina's hair. Naomi didn't question it at the time. Maybe his father had wired him some guilt money, or hell, maybe Cook's dick really did inspire showers of dollar bills, but the moment she found the powder, everything clicked into place. She'd been more curious than upset. Not by much, but enough to keep the confrontation to follow more informative than combustible.

"Naoms, chill fer a secon', 'righ'? Now I know it's no' my MO, bu' I'm doin' this smar', 'righ'? Johnny's go' an easy thing goin'. He deals with the big guy, a coopla'us deal wif 'im. We each get our own sellin' groun'. No one overlaps. We deal to returnin' clients, coopla times'a week. Y'know, re-up, 'n we go 'ome, a thousand dollahs richer. It's good money. It's money that _I _can make. It's safe. I wouln' do tha' t'you."

"And what about you? You don't keep some to the side, do you?"

"Fook, can you imagine me on tha' shite? World can' even 'andle Cookie as is!"

A faint smile played on Naomi's lips, though nothing in comparison to the memory of that gigawatt grin that seemed to get Cook into as much trouble as it got him out of. By the end of that night, he had had Naomi okay with the whole notion. By the end of the week, she was insistant that she tagged along, if only to keep him out of trouble. Three months down the road and they were here, co-workers with an unbeatable synergy, standing beside a dumpster because neither could afford the cover.

Naomi just barely had time to raise an eyebrow to the sudden alertness in Cook's posture. She failed to notice that his stormy blue eyes had been trained on a parking cop car before he rounded on her, taking her by the shoulders and pushing her hard against the wall. He pressed closed lips to hers. Groping at her thigh, the one facing out towards the street, he hefted it up, guiding her ankle to wrap about his backside, slipping a rough palm just beneath the hem of her jacket, but not beneath her shirt. She exhaled furiously through her nose, palms digging into his chest in her attempt to push him off, succeeding in nothing. Removing his lips from hers, he buried his face into the crook of her neck, whispering hurriedly into her ear, "Jus' play alon'. 'e's cruisin' for 'is quo'a."

Naomi turned away from Cook's hot breath, the sound of a car door slamming shut drawing her attention to the officer now approaching them. He undid a snap on his utility belt, bringing up his flashlight mid-stride, illuminating the both of them with the harsh beam, but not before Naomi returned her attention to their faux faux pas, squeezing her eyes shut and throwing her head back in mock enjoyment, palms still fighting against Cook despite herself.

"Hey!" the cop addressed the two of them loud and clear, heavy footsteps growing nearer. "Where do you think you are?"

Cook drew away from Naomi, squinting through the light at the silhouette of the shorter officer. He smiled, allowing Naomi to push him back a few inches and regain her dignity. She was positively red. "Jus' stealin' a kiss to keep us warm 'fore we walk 'ome, officer. Didn' think anybo'y'd min' if we used this alley."

"You thought wrong, son. Ma'am, was this man hurting you?" the beam blinded Naomi now as he turned to address her.

"H-hurting? No! He's my . . . boyfriend," she tried her best to sound convincing, but she was sure her expression undid the lies she fed. This cop wasn't all bad. Their fate was clearly in her hands, the officer's sympathies certainly not extended toward the horny blonde beside her. "I told him to wait, but you know how boys get . . . They want to unwrap their presents early," she wanted nothing more than to gag as she offered a sickly sweet smile.

The officer examined them both in a minute of silence, Cook's smile slowly fading as the color in Naomi's face drained. After a beat, he seemed satisfied and somewhat disappointed. Directing his flashlight downward, he looked Cook dead in the eyes.

"Take her home. You might not have as kind an audience next time. Listen to the little lady."

"Oh yes, officer. Definitely lis'enin' t'my princess from now on. Scout's honor!" Cook held up a peace sign. Naomi stifled a groan and rolled her eyes. The officer merely stared at him until the sandy-blonde man caught on with an "oh!", offering a hand to Naomi. "Le's ge' you 'ome." Naomi took it, nodded politely at the officer as they passed him and followed beside Cook quietly, not looking back until they heard the engine of the cop car start up.

"What the hell kind of improvision was _that_?" Naomi hissed, still keeping in step with Cook's unbroken stride. As she looked up at him, she could tell he had been breathing heavy, his chest still rising and falling with the effort. He glanced back down at her, attempting to blink away the anxiety that had settled behind his eyes.

With his retort, he seemed to slowly return to his usual self. Slowly. "The foon kyn," he muttered, squeezing Naomi's hand in a tight vice before letting it go altogether, running the same hand through his hair. "Foooooook," he exhaled long and low, pace finally slowing down.

A glance behind her told Naomi that the cop was long gone now.

"Sorry, luv. Jus' couln' think oof anootha reason we'd be campin' dumpsters. Better a slap on the wrist than a shake down. Said I'd keep us safe, yeah?" The thin line of his lips drew Naomi out of her huff. She stopped walking. As soon as Cook realized Naomi wasn't at his side, he stopped too, backtracking to close the distance between them.

"You did. We're safe. Nothing happened," Naomi reassured as soon as she was certain she had Cook's full attention. His expression twitched, eyes moistening before he hardened them, strong brow furrowing.

"You go' us ou'. I know that. Coopla' months and then Denver, yeah?"

Naomi knew if she reacted to his unintentionally piteous front in any way other than an answer and then dropping it, they wouldn't be selling tonight. Her stomach rumbled defiantly, even louder than the fear that had settled in its pit. The product in her jacket suddenly felt like paperweights, a pound for every gram. Producing a cigarette from her pouch pocket, she lit it and offered it to Cook. "As long as we keep on track."

Cook nodded, took a steadying drag from the cigarette and tried to give it back to Naomi. She merely waved him off.

"It's yours."

"Cheers," he nodded again, sucking the filter until a quarter of the cigarette was dangling ash.

Just as Naomi felt Cook could be convinced to head back to Skin Deep, a group of three rounded the sidewalk corner, approaching them from their left, dressed in club attire. Cook followed Naomi's stare before breaking out into a grin, raising both his arms high in greeting, lungs still filled with smoke.

"Mikey! Good man, coom t'see the Cookie Monster?"

The group smiled back, the only man of the three taking the lead as he approached Cook and clasped hands with the blonde.

"You know it. Why aren't you inside already? I figured you and Naomi would be splittin' a drink by the bar."

"Low on cash. Think you could fron' us covah? Take it out of your to'al, 'course."

"Yeah man. Let's get inside."

* * *

Cook met Naomi at the bar, head down as he counted the bills Mikey had just exchanged with him. Satisfied that it was all there, minus he and Naomi's cover fee, he pocketed the wad and threw his elbows back behind him against the counter, settling in beside his roommate. They both surveyed the club, eyes scanning both levels of the dance floor, as well as the shadowed corners. Naomi had been right. The turn-out was phenomenal.

Catching the eyes of one of his regulars, Cook nodded his head in her direction, fingertips grazing Naomi's elbow, dismissing himself before disappearing into the crowd to make his second sale of the evening. Naomi watched him off briefly before examining the thick, black "X"s on the backs of her hands. As if the walk hadn't been enough by itself, the scare with the police officer had completely sobered her up from her buzz. She couldn't help but feel nursing something drowning in vodka would ease up the bundle of anxiety in her gut.

Before she could think too long on it all, a feminine, tawny-haired man popped into the seat beside her, hands gripping the lip of the stool as he rocked back and forth.

"Naoms! Did you bring me a present?"

Naomi simply flashed a thin-lipped smile, cast a look across her shoulder at the more-than-busy bartenders, and sidled in a bit closer to the giggling young adult as she discreetly reached into her jacket.

"Your usual?"

"Make it double," the young man crooned, twirling a lock of his own hair, trying not to watch too eagerly as Naomi presumably palmed the powder he was craving. "I've got myself a boy toy tonight."

Naomi's smile split into something a bit more genuine as her hand fell to her side. The young man followed her cue, discreetly meeting her hand with his, relying on feel alone to ensure the transaction as his eyes twinkled with the sight of the crowd. He giggled again, stepping in front of Naomi before leaning in to kiss her cheek. She barely felt the bills slip into her pouch pocket as he lightly clutched her side.

"I'll give you the sticky, icky details next time, if you'd like," he grinned as he stepped back a few paces.

Naomi laughed and shook her head. "I'll give you a ten dollar discount if you _don't_."

"Nooo promiiiseesss!" he chimed in sing-song before dancing his way back into the crowd.

After her first sale, the night's pace picked up to a comfortable jog, quick enough to keep her from revisiting her nerves, but slow enough to allow her to take a few dances for herself, even sharing one with Cook as they checked in with each other for the second time that night.

Cook had bragged that he was nearly out, jostling Naomi by the shoulder good-naturedly as he asked if he could take a few grams of her hands to push. She slipped him an eight ball, told him to knock himself out. They split ways with a promise to be out before two.

She was certain Cook would find her first and rub in the fact that he had beat her to the finish line. Again. She'd gotten so used to retorting, "That's not a good thing, Cook," that they didn't even have to exchange the words anymore. He'd merely show up beside her, grinning toothily; she'd roll her eyes, and they'd be out the door without a word, lighting up a cigarette to celebrate another night's work well done. So when the last of her bags were gone, pockets brimming with wads of salty cash, and Cook nowhere to be seen, she found herself walking the perimeter of the club, shoulder to the walls as she followed along them.

Just before she hit a breakaway hallway leading to the bathrooms, Naomi spotted Cook talking it up with a dolled-up beauty. She could tell he was rather engaged, an arm thrown above them both against the wall as he leaned in a couple inches closer than his casual conversing style, extending himself but not to the extent of looming. His eyes stayed remarkably trained on hers, despite her low-cut baby-tee and skin-tight neon hoses. They were highlighter orange and played against her plum-tinted, rosewood hair in a curiously eye-catching way. But she doubted the woman's color palette was what had Cook laughing with her.

_'Great, he still beat me. He got bored and decided to cruise. And he wonders why I want my own bedroom,' _Naomi couldn't help but think, not sure whether she was sore over losing, being inconvenienced in her search for him, or merely embittered by the likelihood of having to dig up ear plugs to get any shut-eye tonight.

She was short, Naomi continued to observe patiently. Bitter or not, Naomi wasn't a cock-blocker. And really, after the way their night had started, she was just happy to see Cook loosening up again. From her vantage point, she couldn't quite catch the woman's eyes, or her lips really. Just that they tugged upwards a good number of times in sync with Cook's own smiles, and that while she swayed toward him, she never touched him.

'_You're going to have to lay down some ground work for this one, Cook_,' Naomi smiled to herself, pushing off from the wall, just about ready to intervene now that it was obvious this hunt would draw itself out over a few nights minimum. Before she could take her first step, she was stopped again, watching as Cook reached behind the woman and tucked something in the back pocket of her cut-off denim skirt.

As he drew back, he quickly gathered the obvious sight of bills that she offered, grabbing her gently by the elbow and flushing her front against his only for as long as it took him to stash the cash. She must have said something, because he put both his palms up in display, taking a step back as his eyes twinkled mischievously. Naomi could imagine the piss-poor apology he offered, but she was not at all surprised that it worked. The unnatural brunette placed a sweet, almost caressing palm square against his chest before he stumbled back from a playful push, and then she was gone with her new purchase, Cook's eyes trailing after her.

Naomi took her sweet time walking over to Cook, knowing she had quite the window to sneak up on him. His new friend didn't go straight for the dance floor, instead making a beeline for a small group settled by the bar. All that to say, Cook's eye candy was in plain view up until the very moment Naomi spoke. "Who the hell was that?" Naomi asked calmly, feeling Cook's skin jump as she settled beside him, arms crossed over her chest lightly. Already anticipating Cook accusing her of being jealous, as well as realizing how eerily perfect she had played right into that claim, she cut to the heart of her meaning. "She's not one of our regulars."

"Naoms! Hey, I wus jus'bout t'find you," Cook wrapped an arm about Naomi's shoulder, pulling her in tight.

Naomi repeated for her hard-of-hearing friend, "Cook, who was that?"

"Whot? The pret'y thin'? Di'n't ca'ch 'er name . . ." his brow knitted in sudden, deep regret, "or 'er numbah."

Naomi worked herself from underneath Cook's arm, moving to stand in front of him, arms still crossed. "Jesus Christ, Cook, you sold to a random?"

She watched his eyes scan hers for a moment as her tone settled in his ear, face falling into some semblance of serious before he smiled dismissively.

"Oh. Naoms, relax, yeah? We traded passwords'n e'rythin'. She wus jus' buyin' for'er man." Naomi looked on unimpressed. "Oof, c'mon Naoms!" Cook pleaded.

Naomi exhaled hard. "Talk about it on the way home?"

Cook nodded obediently, following after Naomi's lead for once as she carved a path towards the front doors.

The moment the brisk night air hit her skin, Naomi was grabbing for a cigarette and a light, feet carrying her in large strides away from the club. Cook followed after, giving her a foot's berth, quiet and attentive in anticipation of his scolding.

Perhaps it was the nicotine talking, but the venom in Naomi's bite was receding. Suddenly, fighting didn't sound nearly as cathartic. "When the hell did we get passwords?" she sighed, the earlier charge in her interrogation dissipated.

Cook laughed and eagerly caught up to her side. "She said she wan'ed t'go swimmin'n the 'deep en'," Cook stressed "deep end" with air quotations, eyeing Naomi's cigarette before she plucked it from her lips and passed it off to him. "No way she coo'd be a snitch. Girl's greeneh than bud and more obvious than a hotbox. 'Sides, the more we sell, the soonah we ge' t'Denver, innit?"

Naomi considered his reasoning for a beat before conceding with a half-assed nod, accepting her cigarette as it came back around to her. "Then keep it in your pants and don't piss off her boyfriend. Clear?"


	2. The One Where Katie Plays Xbox

**Chapter Two:**  
**The One Where Katie Plays Xbox**

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she propped her back up against the headboard, Emily waited contently for the numbers of her alarm clock to come into focus. Her mind was still shifting gears from groggy to go-time at a geriatic pace.

The clock read 10:17.

With a deflated groan, she untangled her ankles from the sheets and made a beeline for her personal bathroom.

With two hours less of daylight gone than she had planned, Emily decided to keep her shower short, brushing her teeth as she simultaneously stripped down, tossing everything into a nearby hamper as she went along. One of the bonuses of no longer living with Katie included the fact that she could keep her bathroom pristine. It was a privilege that still hadn't lost its novelty.

Slipping on a pair of lime-green hip huggers and a cream camisole, Emily wrapped up her damp hair in a towel and trekked out of the bedroom. She sniffed at the air, hoping to catch the scent of fried bacon or sticky-sweet pancakes. Fresh fruit, even. Anything, really, that would dissuade her stomach from gnawing at itself. She was not surprised when all she could pick up was the unobtrusive scent of clean. "Wishful thinking," she muttered to herself.

"Good morning, Effy," Emily greeted from across the living room, catching sight of the blue-eyed brunette enjoying a cup of tea more than the newspaper splayed out in front of her. Even from where she stood in the hallway, she could tell that Effy was scanning the ads, an uncapped marker laying beside her idly drumming fingers.

"Is it?" Effy posed, watching Emily as she took a slow sip from her cup. Emily's brow quirked, her lips pursing to say something before she decided against it. With the fridge that much closer, she wanted a meal before unravelling her roommate's riddles. Before she could take another step, Effy's eyes rolled slowly, purposefully towards the living room couch. Emily followed her gaze after a beat.

"What the fuck?" Emily's shoulders sagged in exasperation, head lulling back with a heavy sigh. Crashed out on the full length of her couch, face down, high heels propped up against the armrest and an arm dangling over the side, was Katie Fitch.

"How long has she been here?" Emily asked, eyes flitting between her sister and Effy as she awaited an answer.

"Can't say. She was here when I woke up."

"Oh, for fuck's-KATIE!" Emily marched to her sister's side, grabbing the nearest fallen pillow and assaulting the back of Katie's head with it. Katie startled, taking a few seconds to come to her own defense, throwing her arms up to block any further incoming blows. When there were none, her arms slowly lowered. She blinked her new surroundings into focus. "What the fuck, Katie?" Emily pressed, brandishing the pillow threateningly.

With a groan, Katie ran her fingers through her messy hair, pushing it out of her face, never quite dropping a hand in front of her in case her sister was particularly impatient. Her tongue smacked against the roof of her mouth a couple times, the combination of cotton-mouth and whatever she had her mouth on last night leaving her with a sour expression.

"Ugh, Ems. Not now, yeah? Do you have some water?" Emily wound up her pillow arm, but Katie was quick to try again, throwing a hand up for good measure. "Look, I'm not going to tell you anything if you beat me! Water, now!"

Begrudgingly, Emily shoved the pillow into Katie's face as she pushed past her and into the kitchen. Katie considered throwing the pillow right back, but upon feeling how soft it was in her palm opted to bury her face in it instead. Effy hardly acknowledged Emily as she shuffled around her, focused instead on Katie, taking in her streaked eyeliner all the way down to her highlighter-orange leggings.

"Here." Emily loomed over Katie, presenting a glass of tap water in front of her. Katie accepted it, draining half of it before handing it back to Emily. Taking it with a light "tsk", Emily placed it on the coffee table just out of Katie's convenience and simply stared at her twin, still fixed on an explanation.

"What? I can't crash after a night of drinks?"

"That's not the ideal reason to visit, no," Emily griped, sinking into the couch beside Katie. "You couldn't even call? Or knock on my door? Something?"

"Well excuse me, I thought I was being considerate."

"What time did you get in, anyway? Who were you out with?"

Katie laughed, shoving Emily's knee playfully before straining to reach the glass of water, already parched. "You definitely take after Mom."

"Katie-"

"Sometime after three. Danny and I went out on the town. I didn't want Mom having a fit - she doesn't like Danny as it is. I can see now that it doesn't matter where I wound up. Doesn't Elizabeth cook or, you know, _something_ to help out? At least Mom would have had this tiff over eggs."

"This isn't some hotel with a complimentary hot breakfast, and Effy and I's arrangement is none of your business," Emily warned coolly, examining her sister closer now that Katie was preoccupied with draining her glass. "Why didn't you just stay with Danny?

"Seriously, Emily, it's like you don't even want me here. First you rent out my room - for free, I might add - and now it's twenty questions before I've even had time to brush my teeth?" Katie pushed herself up from the couch in a huff, pulling the loose strap of her tank top back over her shoulder as she searched for her purse. Emily was quick to trail after her, cheeks reddening.

"What! _Your_ room? I asked you to move in with me. Multiple times. _You_ didn't want to, remember?"

Katie rounded on Emily so quickly that the sisters nearly smacked faces together. "I didn't want you to move _out_!" Her eyes darted between Emily's, betraying a hint of hurt beneath the aggression in her tone. With a tut of her lips and a mumbled "whatever", Katie returned to searching for her purse, making a real show of it as she upturned cushions and sifted through magazines that couldn't possibly hide her handbag.

"Katie . . ." Emily repeated the softest she had managed that morning, approaching Katie from behind, touching her arm. "Katie, I'm sorry. Can I . . . make you something?" Emily threw Effy a look, nodding to the fridge behind her after getting the brunette's attention. Without turning, Effy reached behind her and pried the refrigerator door open, letting it swing wide to reveal a pathetic array of juices, a carton of eggs, half a jug of milk and assorted condiments tucked into the door shelves. Effy smirked at Emily's grimace. "Or maybe take you out?"

"It's fine," Katie shot down the offer, finally collapsing back on the couch to refasten her heels. "If you find my purse-" Emily picked the said accessory up off the countertop, plopping it gently against Katie's thigh before settling beside her once more.

"You are welcome."

"What, for the purse?" Katie sneered.

Emily's voice hitched high despite herself. "No! I mean-" she took a second to breathe and master her tone, wrangling it back down to a soft, low speaking voice. "I mean you're welcome here. You always are."

Katie looked at the purse, Emily's knee bobbing beside it apprehensively, and then up into the waiting eyes of her sister, which were equally apprehensive. Squabbles weren't the same anymore. She couldn't drag them out until bedtime and whisper an apology beneath the comforter. This was the first she'd seen Emily in a week. And she was going to leave angry? Reaching over, Katie squeezed Emily's knee. "James says hi. Well, he says 'fuck you', but he means hi."

Emily gave a small smile of relief, leaning just slightly into Katie's shoulder. "Tell him 'hi' back for me? Not 'fuck you'. Just hi?"

"Just hi," Katie repeated, committing the message to memory as she gathered up her purse and stood. She was halfway towards the front door before she hesitated and turned. "We should do lunch some time. Later, you know? When I don't look a right mess."

Emily's smile grew. "Yeah, I'd like that." And then Katie was out the door.

"Pancakes?"

Emily startled at the inquiry, taking her eyes off the door to look back at Effy at the table.

"What?"

"Pancakes. Should Elizabeth help out and make pancakes?" Effy posed formally, folding up her newspaper and pushing it aside, the corner of her lip upturned just the slightest as she watched Emily's expression go from confusion to exasperation and finally resignation.

"Yes, just . . . yes. Please."

Emily busied herself with fixing up the living room, aligning her stacks of papers and magazines before coming to the couches. Katie had managed to toss the neatly-tucked throw blanket halfway into the kitchen. Gathering the blanket up, she folded it twice and carried it to the couch, beggining to tuck it over the cushions before her fingers grazed against something not of the upholstery. She plucked the small object from the cushioned crevice, raising it to eye level as the air in her lungs seized.

With Effy's attentions on the mixing bowl in front of her, Emily had no problems catching her roommate offguard, whipping her around by the shoulder. Effy fought the instinctual urge to push Emily away, the balls of her palms retreating from Emily's form before making contact, eyes wide before they narrowed in on the marked jewelry bag dangling in front of her.

"We had a deal, Effy!" Emily's voice strained with anger, the bag between her fingers trembling.

"What? Emily-" Effy braced herself against the countertop, fingernails biting into the woodgrain of the under-counter as she shrunk from Emily.

"You brought drugs into this house! I trusted you, and you brough-"

"Emily! It's no-

"No! I'm not stupid! Don't think you can just-"

"Emily, please!" Effy shouted, eyes squeezing shut as she did so. Emily's nostrils flared, but the slight frame of Effy Stonem caving in on herself was enough to throw her back a step and stem the angry fountain of accusations bubbling in her throat.

"What?" Emily snapped tersely.

Effy trained her eye on the transparent jewelry bag of white, crystallized powder before meeting Emily's livid gaze. "It's not mine, Emily," she murmured slowly. Emily's jaw tightened in an effort to hear Effy out. "Think about it. Where did you find it?"

Emily scrutinized Effy's eyes for meaning. "The couch, in between- . . . the cushions," not realizing the implication of her answer until mid-sentence. Effy nodded once, watching as Emily's anger melted away to shock. "No. Katie? No . . ."

"Can I see it?" Effy rose a hand to accept the plastic bag, but made no attempt to grab at it as Emily numbly considered the request. She passed it off to Effy in favor of processing everything that had just taken place, the backs of her calves tapping against the lip of a dining room chair before she sat blindly.

"It looks like a gram. Even." Effy examined the ziplock teeth before turning the bag over in her palm, eyes catching a black-inked design on the other side. It was immediately apparent that the graphic had been applied with a Sharpie, reading "8ft." in gender-neutral handwriting.

Emily glared up at Effy, unnerved by her keen eye. "That so? Your point?"

"I don't think the bag's been opened."

"So Katie meant to take it later, I don't see why that matters!" Emily snapped, fingers fidgetting against the table. "When! How? Where would she even?- Was she-do you think she was messed up when she crashed last night?"

Effy pursed her lips before leaning over Emily's seat to press the bag of methamphetamine against the table, her index finger tapping the "8ft." marking. "Skin Deep. That's where it came from."

"How do you know that?"

"Eight feet. The deep end of a pool. It's a business card, like matchbooks from a strip club."

Emily cast Effy an incredulous stare, not sure whether to be thankful for the young woman's knowledge or to make a mental note of digging into Effy's past sooner rather than later. Picking up the bag again, Emily regarded it in silence as Effy watched on.

"She's never taken it before, has she?"

"No. At least . . . I don't think so," the despondency in Emily's tone echoed her deflating demeanor. The fight with which she had cornered Effy just moments before had all but fled. Dropping the bag on the table once more, Emily simply stared at it. Effy took to the seat beside Emily, covering the bag with her palm to break the line of sight. Emily looked up.

"I don't think Katie took anything. You don't . . ." she paused to lick her lips nervously, "you can't sleep. You want to move around. Change the world. Touch. Achieve. Katie was fast asleep and neither of us heard her come in."

"But why did she have it in the first place, Effy?" Emily pleaded. At this, Effy remained mute, brow knitting in uncomfortable empathy. "I just . . . I don't think she'll tell me on her own. Not anymore. If I could just see for myself . . ." Emily sighed. "It could be Danny's, couldn't it?"

"It could. Does that make you feel better?"

"No. It doesn't," the listlessness in Emily's demeanor shifted to focus as she straightened up, eyes dancing at the sight of nothing in particular. "Effy, we've got to go to this Skins place. Deep Pool, Eight Feet, Skinny Dip-"

"Skin Deep," Effy offered helpfully at the sight of Emily growing more and more vexed with each incorrect stab-in-the-dark.

"Skin Deep. Next time Danny and Katie go out. Danny wouldn't give me the time of day in passing, but if he thinks we're out looking for a good time, he'd at least tolerate my company. I could just . . . keep an eye out, see what happens."

"We?" Effy's magnetic gaze summoned Emily's eyes to hers.

"Yes, we. I've never been there, and I'm not going alone. Come on, Effy, please, I need a second pair of eyes."

Effy took a deep breath. "Watch me?"

Emily tilted her head in puzzlement. It took Effy's palm retracting from the drugs and her stormy blue eyes flitting to her Achille's heel for Emily to snap to. She reached for Effy's hand, blanketing it momentarily before removing the meth from the tabletop discreetly.

"Like a hawk," Emily promised soberly.

Effy smiled apprehensively. "Okay."

"Thank you," Emily mirrored Effy's half-smile, pushing up from the table to standing. She exhaled long and slow before heading into the guest bathroom, calling back at Effy as the sound of a ziplock parted. "You're still making pancakes, right?" A moment later, the toilet flushed, Emily reappearing with hands empty.

"Snowman or Mickey Mouse?"

* * *

The heels lasted all of five minutes before Katie worked the monstrosities off of her tired feet, leaning up against a light pole for balance. She'd thought to hail a cab, but Danny had promised drinks on him last night, which meant Katie had neglected to hit an ATM before her night out. A stretch of twenty-three miles separated the Fitch's from Emily's, but Katie knew of a bus stop close by. If she could just quietly slip beneath her covers without enduring another slew of questions beforehand, any transit would do. Watching the ground beneath her feet as she took her first few steps, Katie headed for home.

By the time Katie reached the bus stop, people were already loading in. Sprinting, still barefoot, she caught her arm between the door, to which the bus driver quickly apologized, opening up to admit the rest of her. Panting lightly, Katie slumped down into the nearest available pair of empty seats, folding her legs up into the adjacent seat to get her feet off the ground. The bottoms were speckled with dirt and grime, but it was nothing a shower couldn't fix.

Whether out of pity, offense or sheer indifference, not a soul insisted on hijacking Katie's footrest throughout the entire ride. The bus driver shot her the occasional questionable glance in the rear-view visor, but after catching one too many, Katie simply pulled out her phone to avoid further eye contact.

A text message from Emily chimed underneath her game of Candy Crush. Sensing a losing match, the decision to exit the game was nearly instantaneous, the sisters' ongoing line of communication popping up in its stead. The name "Emsy" prefaced the conversation. 

**Ever been to Skin Deep? There's a DJ guesting all next week that Effy's really into, apparently. You and Danny should come with us. We'll make a night out of it.**

Katie stared blankly at the newest text. Either she was more exhausted than she thought or Emily was trying too hard to make up for being a twat, but the more she read Emily's words, the less she believed them. 

**you hate danny**

**So help me hate him less.**

Katie exhaled a laugh. 

**sure, alright. keep in touch**

When the city streets transitioned into green suburbia, Katie packed up her phone and deboarded, heels hanging from their straps at her fingertips. The sidewalk was hot now, sun-kissed and unforgiving on Katie's callousing feet, making the sight of home a welcome one until Katie neared the front door, the shrill shrieks of Jenna Fitch audible from within the house.

Hand hovering over the doorknob, Katie held and released a deep breath before pushing it open, her parent's bickering voices crashing against her ears.

"You're gone all day and gone all night and what do you do with your day off? Spend it at some bar? What about your kids, Rob? What about me? I've barely seen you!"

"You scream like a banshee at me when you do! What do you want me to say, Jen? 'cuz you just keep gettin' louder, love."

"Love? Oh no. No, no. 'Love' is for the man that spends time with his family!"

"It was one night! Ferguson insisted!"

"Did Ferguson forget we're in a financial crisis right now? I know how you drink, Rob!"

"For god's sake, Jen, he paid for my drinks! I didn't spend a dime! I just needed a break!"

"Oh, a break? Is that what you need? I should just give you a break? Come here, I'll break something for you!"

Katie took the steps upstairs in a jog, hoping to ascend above the quarreling in the kitchen as quickly as possible. Shutting the bathroom door behind her, she braced her back and palms against it, leaning her head back with her eyes closed until she felt she could check in again. Sullen-faced but collected, Katie crossed to the sink, meeting her reflection in the mirror with a quiet frown. Her lipstick stain had faded and smudged so much that it looked as if she had freshly chugged fruit punch Kool-Aid. Her cheeks were striped with mascara. No wonder she'd been left alone on the bus, she couldn't help but think. Wouldn't want to risk appearing to proposition a hooker.

Turning the faucet to hot, Katie let the water run over her fingers until it came to temperature. Craning into the sink, she scrubbed at her face arduously, fingertips grazing every bit of skin, every dip and fold as many times as needed before she rose, gasping softly for air. Pleased with her fresh face, she cast a look down at her feet, lifting and tilting one upward to inspect. She glanced at the bathtub, her parents' muffled yells her soundtrack as she swiftly considered and decided against a shower. Wiggling her toes and heel into the shag of the rug beneath her feet, she made a compromise with cleanliness, enduring the earache a few minutes longer to brush her teeth and tongue, already looking forward to earplugs and shut-eye in her own bed.

Noticing James' door cracked open as she stepped back out into the hallway, Katie approached quietly, leaning against the doorframe as she discreetly peered in. From her angle, she could see James, back sunken into a mountain of pillows, blankets and comforter, headphones engulfing his ears and an Xbox controller in his hands. The glow of the television illuminated his stoic face in the dark, catching in his moist eyes.

Casting a wistful glance at her own room beforehand, she pushed James' door open enough to slip in, walking to James' bedside before taking a seat beside him. His eyes never left the television screen, but he did relieve one hand from the controller long enough to slip the headphones from off his ears around his neck. Katie observed the screen a beat before both siblings flinched at the sound of glass shattering downstairs.

"So you just shoot the aliens, then?"

"Most of 'em," James replied, almost bored.

Spying a second controller peeking out from beneath the bed, Katie leaned down to retrieve it, gripping it in her hands akwardly. James gave her a sidelong glance. "Well? It's two player, isn't it?"

With the briefest tug of a smile, James paused his campaign and reached over to Katie's controller, holding down the Xbox logo until it blinked green.


	3. The One Where Effy Plays Hooky

**Author's Note: Hello, all! I just wanted to take a second of your time to say thank you for your reads and reviews thus far! I appreciate every bit of feedback and I hope to continue to entertain. That being said, in order to continue producing the quality that I hold myself to, updates from this point on will be bi-weekly, as in every fortnight. Updates will still be on Mondays. Thank you for your patience and enjoy!**

**Chapter Three:**  
**The One Where Effy Plays Hooky**

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Effy asked as Emily emerged from her bedroom, makeup freshly done in such a manner that her rosy cheeks and chocolate brown eyes popped. Her lips, however, remained nude. Beneath a thigh-length denim skirt, Emily wore opaque black tights. Her top consisted of two parts; a black-and-gray sheer vest over a white blouse, frills lining the babydoll-tee-length sleeves as well as the collar. Nestled in her hair was a similarly-styled bow, baby pearls sewn in a circle around the knot. She had settled with black leather loafers for shoes.

Emily looked herself over as best she could without a mirror before giving Effy a confused stare. "What's wrong with this?"

"Besides the fact that you look like you're heading to a Sunday brunch with the grandparents?"

"Well, I'm not exactly going to dance, now am I?" Emily took a moment to flit over Effy's attire. Besides wearing bottoms for once and having ran a brush through her hair, the blue-eyed enigma looked much the same as she did in any occasion. Some obscure band whose name was lettered in an even more obscure font was splashed across the torso of her t-shirt, the sleeves cut off and fraying. Large tears ran up the sides, revealing a modest black sports bra underneath. She'd gone with a thigh-length skirt as well, a light and flowy number that probably fanned beautifully when twirled, subtle black sequins sewn inbetween layers of sheer fabric. To Emily's envy, Effy's face could always get away with only black eyeliner. Today was no exception.

"Katie will smell bullshit the second she sees you."

Emily exhaled heavily through her nose. "Fine. I'll change."

As Emily turned on her heels to head back into the bedroom, Effy called after her, "Do you need to borrow some clothes?"

Emily stopped in the doorway long enough to smirk back at Effy. "Please," she scoffed through a laugh before closing the door behind her.

When she re-emerged, Effy could not help the grin that spread across her lips. Emily was not one to be doubted, but boy were the results always better when she was. Having done away with the blouse completely, now only the silk vest hugged Emily's frame, the first button of the already low-dipping V-cut undone, better revealing a lacy, royal purple bra. She had exchanged her black hoses for purple to tie in with her bra and bow, which had also changed color for the occasion. On her feet were sensible two-inch heels with a glossy black finish. Her lips were painted plum.

"Better," Effy praised, gathering Emily's bike helmet and the spare from the counter, walking Emily's to her. "Ready?"

* * *

**on our way. danny's making a stop first, so we may be late.**

With a roll of her eyes, Emily slipped her phone back into her clutch before dismounting from her moped, running her fingers through the blue and purple handlebar tassels out of habit as she swung her legs over to the sidewalk.

It had been four days since she had seen Katie last. Most of her upset had gelled between then, Effy's reasoning keeping her cautiously optimistic, but there was no patience left to be spared for Danny's sake. He was already making this operation needlessly inconvenient.

Effy, who had dismounted the moment the Star 125 DLX came to a stop, quietly handed Emily her helmet to lock up before migrating farther from the busy street. Her arms remained tightly folded to her chest as she followed Emily to the empty queue, eyes darting between the streams of white head-lights and red tail-lights before looking up at the brighter building sign. The letters flashed in seemingly random order, graffiti-styled stain glass inlays giving each letter its own unique color palette. Skin Deep looked no different than it did when she frequented it, but somehow, maybe sober, it felt alien.

"I.D's," the bouncer grunted, raising a flashlight to view both cards as they came into his hand. "Forty bucks." He slipped both I.D.s into a booklet of card protectors. As soon as the money was transferred, he traded his flashlight for a marker, motioning with a "gimmie" motion for Emily's and Effy's hands. "Enjoy," the simple man managed somewhat politely, admitting the two freshly-marked women into the club.

Migrating instinctively to the bar for somewhere to sit while they waited, Emily turned to Effy, who hadn't said a word since leaving the house.

"Anything like you remember?" Emily leaned in, attempting to speak above the music. Effy's attention snapped to her, wide-eyed and unblinking until she seemed to come around to what Emily had just said.

"More expensive," Effy uttered quietly, leaving Emily to read her lips to make out what she had said, which was doubly difficult seeing as how Effy looked away mid-reply, eyes wide and scanning again, ever flitting.

With a frown, Emily swivelled her stool inward, popping open her clutch under the countertop discreetly as she fished through its contents. Pulling out a tiny single-ounce flask she spun back around, pressing it into Effy's palm.

"Take it. Something to help calm the nerves," Emily encouraged until Effy wrapped her fingers around the unspecified offering. Unscrewing the top and in true Stonem fashion, Effy tipped the contents of the flask past her lips without so much as a sniff to indicate what she was drinking. It was hot and sweet, like sucking on a cinnamon candy. She felt the warmth blossom in her stomach before her cheeks.

"Finish it off if you have to."

Effy took Emily's offer without a moment's hesitation, draining the last of the flask in two successive shots.

"Thanks." Effy passed back the empty flask with an appreciative smile, licking the taste of cinnamon from off her lips.

Within minutes, the punch of alcohol to her near-empty stomach was working its intended magic. The music and lights no longer combatted one another for dominance, but ebbed and flowed together. Every passing body was no longer an immediate threat, but merely a blur leaving behind a gust of wind that gently kissed her lightly-perspiring skin. From her peripherals, Effy could see Emily's face lit ghostly-white as she checked her phone, no doubt for an update from Katie. The way Emily's foot bobbed up and down on the stool footrest indicated she probably wasn't up for a dance to kill time.

Unwilling to leave Emily's sight but growing more restless by the second, Effy turned inward toward the bar. The set up was rather ingenious, really. Built in the shape of a square, the bar could be approached from any side, each bartender manning their own edge. The walls comprising the heart of the bar no doubt hid a keg room boxed between them, each outfitted with two dozen beer taps and lit displays of glass shelving lined with liquors of every kind.

With the taste of alcohol still on her tongue, Effy found herself craving more. Her eyes followed a particularly handsome barkeep, despite knowing that his services were off-limits. Her fingers rubbed against the ink on the back of her hands as she watched him pour a draft beer. With her skin burning raw, she began to construct the words and actions she'd use to persuade him to overlook her I.D., until he unexpectantly disappeared around a corner. And that's when Effy saw him instead.

Clear on the opposite end of the bar, head thrown back in mid-laugh, was James Cook, looking no different than the last she saw of him with exception to the brownish patch of scruff on his chin. Not too far off, avoiding the crowd around the counter and nursing a brown bottle, was his familiar peroxide-blonde companion, Naomi Campbell.

Before Effy could decide the sighting was ultimately unimportant as an echo of her former life, Cook's eyes fell on her, brow furrowing until he could be sure of who he was seeing. A broad grin broke across his face, his eyebrows waggling before he backed away from the bar and into the crowd. Effy's gaze jumped to Naomi, her instinct paying off as Cook resurfaced at Naomi's side. Taking Naomi by the elbow, the two disappeared a second time in the mass of moving bodies.

"Shit." Effy spun around, staring blankly at the space in front of her a beat before reaching out to grab Emily's wrist. The red-head glanced up from her phone.

"Effy?"

"We should go." Effy tugged at Emily's wrist, but Emily resisted, keeping her hands firmly planted in her lap and on her phone.

"Why?"

Releasing Emily, Effy darted from her stool, using her arms and elbows to assert a path through the oblivious roadblocks. She didn't get very far before Emily's hand found her arm, holding her in place.

"Wait, Effy. Just tell me why," Emily persisted as Effy turned to appease her, eyes on Emily's only a moment before gazing past her at the incoming meet-and-greet she had hoped to avoid.

"Eff!" Cook yelled above the music before his feet could place him just an arms-length away. "Well color me blue an' call me Violet! Was beginnin' t'think y'were a figmen' oof my 'magination."

Naomi, who had gotten separated, caught up seconds after, brow quirking at the sight of an old acquaintance.

"Effy? Jesus, it's been . . . shit, five months? Six?"

Releasing Effy, Emily turned to identify the new voices. She looked over Cook briefly, not a sliver of recognition reading in her eyes before finding herself a bit more intrigued by his cohort. She took great care familiarizing herself with Naomi, nabbing her chance amongst the introductory confusion.

Only when Emily looked away did Naomi return the scrutiny, stunned by the likeness the woman held to Cook's random client a few days back. Outside of the way she carried herself and her aggressively red hair, the two were practically . . . Naomi's eyes widened, lips parting just slightly as she put two and two together.

"Friends of yours?" Emily asked as Effy stared down Cook, wearing a stoic mask of dissatisfaction. Cook stared right on back, as if waiting for something from Effy.

"Effy!" Emily broke in with a huff, growing impatient with being ignored.

"No."

"Sure we are! We was _real_ frien'ly. Don'cha remembuh? Why, Eff an' I-" Cook's head turned to Emily as he began to unravel their history before the words caught in his throat. Perplexion painted his features as he did a once-over of Emily, followed by another for good measure before his open mouth curled into a grin. "Oi! I was hopin' I'd see you again, peach. You an' your boy enjoy the rock candy? Quali'y stoof, tha'!"

Naomi's eyes widened as Emily's narrowed.

"Excuse me?"

Crossing her arms loosely around her chest, Naomi sidled up to Cook's side, doing her best to remain discreet as she pinch his ribs. He batted her hand away as if it were a gnat, not even turning his head.

"Coom on, love. Y'don't forge' the Cookie Monster in just four days, no ma''ah 'ow many droogs y'take. Whot's your name, babe?"

Naomi's eyes rolled to the ceiling with such force that her head lulled back with them. She exhaled a silent "oh my fucking Jesus" before she came back down to earth, pinching Cook's side a little more visibly and a lot more viciously. Cook jerked away with a wince.

"Ow! Fook! Whot!?"

"I don't know you," Emily asserted, staring hard at Cook now.

"Uh, yeah. Y'do. I 'ooked you up, din' I? Powdah fah soom chowdah. Tol' me ya'boy Danny woodn' be too keen on me keepin' ya. Right shame. He 'ave dibs on y'name too, sweets?"

Emily's eyes flashed, the only tell she let slip before she was wringing the collar of Cook's polo tight around his neck, the lengths of her forearms pressing hard against his chest, causing Cook to stumble back a few paces. "It was you!"

"Whot?" Cook sputtered, working his fingers beneath his collar to stave off the asphyxiation, his other hand raised up in clear surrender, lest anyone mistake him for a woman beater.

"You fucking sold drugs to my fucking sister!"

Unable to remain passive any longer with the escalation in Emily's voice, Naomi forced herself between Emily and Cook, pushing Cook back and away as she met Emily's fuming gaze.

"He did. And he won't. Not ever again, right Cook?" Naomi dared not cast a glance behind her as she addressed her friend, afraid to take her eyes off of Emily for even a second. To her surprise, Emily held her gaze, all plots of murder on hold as she permitted Naomi the chance to make things right.

"Whot the foo-"

"Right. Cook."

"Wha'eva! Righ'! Whot the fook is goin' on?

Naomi turned to Cook to level with him. "Twins, Cook. You sold to Thing One and now Thing Two is angry."

An indignant "excuse me!" erupting from behind Naomi caused her to look back at Emily, offering an apologetic smile. "He understands better in Seuss-isms," Naomi explained before turning right back to Cook.

"Twins? Like. Iden'ical?"

"There you go," Naomi nodded, smoothing out Cook's collar.

"Fook . . ." Cook exhaled through his mouth, running a hand through his shaggy hair. Stepping past Naomi towards Emily, he dropped his mouth lower to her ear so that she could hear his sincerity. "Your sista, she's blacklisted, yeah? We don' wan' trouble. 'onest."

Stepping back, Emily stared hard at Cook's expression before relenting a small nod.

"Good. Cook, was it?"

"Yeah, babes?"

Naomi grimaced.

"You only sold to her once, right?"

"Only _seen_ 'er once. Well, twice now." He motioned the length of Emily's body with his hand, offering a cheeky grin. When Emily merely stared him down, Cook's face suddenly sobered, covering his eyes with a palm. "An' nehvuh again!"

"Hey, so, Effy's gone," Naomi stated casually, tipping her beer to her lips.

Emily's head whipped to her side. Cook peeked through his fingers before dropping his hand from his face.

"Shit!" Brown eyes locked onto Naomi. "Well? Where'd she go?"

"Uh . . ."

"Useless," Emily muttered, shaking her head before turning on her heels, whipping out her phone as she stormed toward the exit for a spot of quiet.

As Cook and Naomi looked on in Emily's direction, long since lost in the crowd taller than herself, Cook leaned in to speak into Naomi's ear.

"Think we should follow 'er?"

"You're mental."

* * *

"Jesus, Effy, pick up your phone!" Emily growled into the mouthpiece as she pushed through the heavy metal doors of Skin Deep out into the night air. Approaching the bouncer from behind, phone still pressed to her ear as she listened to the ringer go off for a fourth time, she tapped him on the shoulder before extending a splayed palm. The bouncer took a minute to retrieve her I.D. before placing it in her hand.

"Elizabeth Stonem's, too, please," she snapped curtly, pointing to the I.D. next to the empty spot her card once held. He hesitated, glancing over Emily's shoulder before complying.

"Fucking . . ." Emily wrenched the phone from her ear as she was forwarded to voicemail, pocketing the I.D.s roughly before Effy's voice came from a little ways off.

"Can we go home now?"

Emily whipped around to see Effy standing a few paces from Emily's moped, a cigarette with an unfamiliar brown filter hanging between her fingers. She must have bummed it from a passerby. It wasn't her usual brand.

"Effy!" Emily's voice teetered between relief and vexation. She closed the distance between them in a few quick strides. "You could have told me you'd be out here."

"I did."

"What, with a fucking smoke signal?"

Effy took a heavy drag before pushing out a string of smoke rings. Emily sighed.

"Right, let's get home then." Emily fumbled with her keys until locating the one to her chain lock, freeing her helmets. Just as she handed Effy the spare helmet a car with pounding bass pulled in behind them, occupying the parallel parking space. One look past the windshield had Emily sighing again.

"What timing! You girlies just get here, too?" Danny's boisterous voice yelled over the bass as he stuck his head past the rolled-down window with a wave.

Emily completely ignored him, instead casting a look of disappointment to Katie in the passenger seat before securing her helmet. Katie hurriedly evacuated the vehicle, brow stitched in confusion.

"Where are you going, Emily?"

"Home," Emily called back behind her shoulder, mounting her moped. "Come on, Effy." With the engine revved, Emily was merging into traffic before Katie could reach her, leaving the older twin baffled and stung.

* * *

"See you in an hour." Emily said, moped idling beneath her as she secured the spare helmet to the back of her bike.

Effy simply nodded, watching Emily off until she disappeared around a street corner. Turning around, she took in the dreary sight of the rehabilitation center before her.

The building was clearly re-purposed, the faint outline where signage once occupied reading "HOBBY LOBBY" with "CREATIVE CENTER" tacked on in smaller font beneath. Beneath that, in simple black text on white tarp, read "REHAB & ASSISTANCE". Effy was certain it was no coincidence that the other three buildings in the run-down shopping strip had "For Lease" signs in their grimy windows. The gargantuan parking lot was nearly vacant, populated with about a dozen or so vehicles all loosely huddled around the rehab entrance. Interspersed at equal intervals, twelve total, were towering light poles, currently inactive in the bright daylight.

Casting one last look at the entrance doors, Effy walked in the opposite direction towards the nearest light pole, hoisting herself atop its wide, cement base. Kicking her feet back and forth, she reached into her breast pocket for a cigarette and a lighter, cupping her hand over the tip of her cigarette as she lit it.

Despite being boxed in by traffic, the lot was rather quiet. The noise of the passing cars was more or less a jamboree of cicadas, or the pattering of a steady rainfall - all-encompassing, but ever in the background.

Another glance at the entrance informed Effy that she was soon to have company as a familiar face spotted her and waved before dropping his skateboard down to the cement, hopping onto it the moment the wheels touched the ground. Guiding the board with expert ease, v-neck t-shirt billowing with the speed he coasted at, the young man stopped just short of the light pole, popping his skateboard vertical before grabbing it and tucking it beneath his arm.

"Hey Effy. Aren't you supposed to be inside? I'm sure they're missing you."

"Are they?"

"I know I would be."

Effy glanced at the young man for the first time since he'd stopped before her, watching as he plucked his lime green ear-buds from his ears, letting them spill over his shirt collar. He tousled his own dark brown hair, especially around the ears, until the thick shag laid exactly how he wanted. He offered a smile in Effy's silence, drumming his fingers against his skateboard.

"What's your name again?"

"Freddie."

"Freddie. You're not going to tell on me, are you, Freddie?"

Freddie's smile curled up into his cheeks as he shook his head. "Well no, but I don't have to. You can't really play hooky from these things. They have an attendance sheet. It's columned and everything." Pointing a finger to the empty space beside Effy, Freddie asked, "May I?"

With Effy's single nod, Freddie propped his skateboard against the cement base and hoisted himself beside her, keeping a respectful six-inch no-man's land between them.

Effy continued to smoke in silence without so much as a second glance, staring off at the street. Leaning his head against the metal light post, Freddie closed his eyes until Effy's voice reached his ears again.

"What happens if I'm not present?"

"After the meeting is up, they'll call your emergency contact and let them know you were absent. Usually. Sometimes the group leader leaves the paperwork for the volunteers to make the calls."

"You're a volunteer."

"I am."

"Why?"

Freddie's mouth popped open soundlessly, having anticipated a different follow-up than the question Effy posed. Brow furrowing, he closed his gaping mouth until he could reprogram his reply.

"I've got the time to spare, I guess. Plus, no one chases me off of this parking lot. It's a dream to sail on. All this concrete."

"So is that what you do?"

"Pardon?" Freddie turned his head to look in Effy's direction, no longer able to follow her example. She was asking personal questions now. To continue staring at the sky seemed . . . wrong, even if Effy was perfectly content doing so.

"Outside of volunteering."

"I guess. That. College. Smoke. Wank. Y'know, the American dream."

Effy cracked a smile that lit up Freddie's eyes. Grinning like an idiot, he no longer minded that Effy's gaze remained far-off. Encouraged, he opened up further without prompting.

"My dad's well off. He lets me room in the garage house rent-free, so long as I keep my grades up. I do courses online. Thought it'd be brilliant. Wake up whenever I want to, light up a J and just buckle down. It is pretty brilliant, actually, except I get stir-crazy. That's why I volunteer. Helps keep me grounded."

Effy exhaled the last hit of her cigarette in a narrow, straight stream, snuffing her cigarette butt against the concrete beside her thighs. She rotated the spent cigarette between her fingers, glancing at Freddie after a moment. Winding up her fingers to flick the butt, she held Freddie's slightly bemused gaze. Her lips curled seconds before she flicked the cigarette butt to land where it may, watching his curious stare morph into a subtle smile.

"Grounded. When you were a kid, didn't that word mean something else?"

Running a hand through his hair, Freddie seemed to ponder on the question for a second before slowly nodding. "Yeah, I s'pose it did. Funny. Huh." He hunkered down in thought, losing himself to the world for a beat before coming to. "I guess when our parents aren't around to enforce order, we just have to find it for ourselves."

"So volunteering is time out?"

"Yeah, actually. I mean, why not? It's time out of my humdrum home life. I'd say it's a bit more constructive than sitting in the corner with a dunce cap, but you could call it time out."

Effy drew her knees to her chest, turning inward to better face Freddie.

"This isn't time out for me." Effy's gaze flickered toward the rehab building before returning to Freddie. "I come here, and I am reminded how many days it's been since I've used. Each day the number gets bigger. That's it. Just the number. They pat you on your back and ask you how you feel. If it's positive, their voices get higher. If it's negative, they get lower. So you lie and say something positive not because you want the biscuit, but because you can't stand the whip. The number gets bigger, but it doesn't mean anything. You feel the same on forty-three as you did on seventeen and everyone just wants to talk about upcoming forty-six."

Freddie's resting smile had slowly diminished over the course of Effy's monologue, his attentive eyes remaining on Effy's face, brow weighted in concern. He licked his bottom lip before holding up his index finger, digging into his cargo pocket. Producing a graffiti-ed, slim cigarette case, he nimbly worked it open with one hand, still asking for a minute of Effy's time with the other.

"I have a proposal." Pinching a joint between his fingers, Freddie presented it to Effy, holding it equidistance between them. "If you sit here and share this joint with me . . . maybe, y'know, talk about whatever's on your mind. Or listen to me prattle on- Whatever. If you just let me keep you company until your ride comes to pick you up, I'll sign you in before they pass off the paperwork. It's win-win, right? I get to talk to a pretty girl. You get to talk to someone who actually cares. What d'you say? You in?"

Effy's gaze shifted from the joint between them to Freddie's patient, brown irises, seeking a motivation. When she couldn't place one that he hadn't already freely admitted, she let an arm drop from around her knees to accept the joint. Pursing it between her lips, she reached for her lighter, but Freddie was quicker, shielding a flame to the tip of the joint. Effy let it catch fire before pulling the flame inward, inhaling a lungful before passing the joint to Freddie.

"Stonem. My name. It's-"

"Elizabeth Stonem," Freddie finished, tendrils of smoke rising from his lips. "I've seen your file. You still sign Effy, though."

Effy quirked a brow as the joint came back around to her. Freddie dropped his head, suddenly interested in scraping the dirt from beneath his fingernails. Glancing up a handful of times, it was always to the sight of Effy's continuous stare, the joint burning slowly between her fingers. Finally he just shrugged, slowly raising accused hands.

"What? It's . . . it's a nice signature. Don't think I've ever met an Effy before."

Satisfied, Effy finally took her hit.

"You'll never meet another."


	4. The One With The Step Ladder

**Author's Note: Surprise! So I know I said I was shifting into posting every other week last week, but I'm just too excited not to share this completed chapter with you guys. For you Naomily fans that have been reading, you're welcome. ;) Thank you for your reads and reviews. Starting now, I will be posting every other week. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Four:**  
**The One With The Step Ladder**

It's not that Naomi had a particularly fondness for the streets she and Cook hopped in the wee hours of the morning moving product, but she would be hard-pressed to find a quieter stretch of sidewalk at high noon. Walking leisurely, one arm drawn about her chest, a cigarette pressed to her lips, actively avoiding the cracks in the cement beneath her, Naomi slowly passed by the light-less, noiseless shells of the clubs that wouldn't come to life for another eight hours.

She casually glanced up at the signage of each building as she passed beneath them. Without their epileptic neon pulses, the in-distinctive mesh of metal framing and fiber-optic tubing could very well pass for a map of city transit. Or a map of the city sewage system. Naomi decided on the latter, witnessing one too many hurl-fests on these very streets.

She'd normally not be out in the sunlight aimlessly. Her night owl status over the months had given her already pale skin-tone a nearly ivory quality and while she wasn't quick to boast about it, admitted to a certain effort in its maintenance. All throughout school people had seen something on the surface that kept them an arm's length and a snarky quip away from her. She just couldn't peg it. Was it her overalls? Her hand-stitched, upholstery-inspired swatch choices? Was she just too smart? Too cynical? Too discontent? She'd stop trying to figure it out years ago, finding it much easier to just let people judge as they would. Every deliberate diversion from the mass's desirable was her little rebellion, and it gave her more confidence than following any Cosmo tip.

Tugging the sleeves of her cardigan past her fingers, Naomi veered off the street sidewalk into one of the cleaner side alleys, opting for a spot of shade and a wall that was not yet sun-baked to lean against. To her pleasant surprise, after walking a few yards inward, Naomi spotted what seemed to be an attempt at a small patio, a makeshift chicken-wire fence establishing a small squarish parameter around one of the building's back doors. A tattered awning barely stretched across the sum of the intended square footage. Stepping over the two foot fence, which Naomi wildly assumed probably only kept out the laziest of gutter rats, Naomi helped herself to the lone wicker seat, dragging the terracotta ashtray on the table beside her closer for her convenience. Ashing, she sighed contently. At least there was one good thing out of this forced excursion. Until someone shooed her off, Naomi had yet another nook away in the city.

A small movement out of the corner of her eye caused Naomi to look down, her face contorting in a look of disgust as her foot jerked out of the way of a darting cockroach up from the sewers. "Jesus!" she breathed, tensing as her petrified stare followed its redirected route towards the nearby dumpster until it disappeared amidst a pile of decomposing leaves.

_Almost forgot where I was for a second. That would've been tragic_, Naomi's sarcasm bled through her resting thoughts as she tried to re-establish some semblance of serenity, lifting her feet from the ground to prop up on the round, cast-iron table.

Cook hadn't said how long he'd be. Actually, he hadn't said anything when Naomi left earlier that day.

She and Cook had both crashed out on the couch sometime after three to a bad B-rated horror flick. To Naomi's knowledge, Cook was still asleep beside her, so when she woke up to the front door busting open, she couldn't help but think gingerbread men armed with household power tools might be attacking for just one second. She had had just enough time to deem the chances of that highly improbable and roll off the edge of the couch before two tangled bodies crashed down over the armrest in a furious game of tonsil-hockey.

Naomi was out the door before she could place a face to the moaning body beneath her roommate, making sure to slam the door hard on her way out.

Lighting up another cigarette, Naomi decided to err in Cook's favor, buying him another seven minutes for his morning romp. She itched for a book or the paper to read, picking at the chipping paint of the table for lack of anything better to do before her listless eyes wandered upon a curious sight. Deeper in the alleyway, closer to the opposite street from which Naomi had wandered in from, stood an erect step ladder flush to the building wall, just beneath a fire escape.

The ground ladder for the fire escape was currently deployed, hanging just a few feet from the top of the step ladder. Naomi's eyes climbed it up, following the zig-zagging stairs of the fire escape up the building until her gaze grappled with the extended lens of a camera.

Its user, spotted, dropped to her haunches, hoping to hide from sight as she made herself as small as she could, holding her camera close to her chest. Naomi hadn't a clue where this mysterious photographer thought she could hide. The black-barred metal framing did nothing for camouflage. If anything, only the glinting sun was on the stranger's side, keeping Naomi's eyes squinting as she tried to make out an identity. Standing to her feet, Naomi slowly approached, shading her eyes as she continued to look up.

"Hey. You. Up there," Naomi called loud enough for her voice to reach the stranger, more and more certain the camera had been trained on her the longer she had to reflect on it. "Look, you can't just take pictures of people."

The body above made no attempt to move or speak, so Naomi placed herself beneath the fire escape, head lulling back as she gazed directly up through the metal grating.

"Is this your step ladder?"

Naomi let a second of silence pass before gathering up said step ladder, collapsing it in on itself. From above, she could hear the stranger's shuffling feet vibrate down the metal construct.

"That's mine!" a husky, feminine voice asserted from above.

Stepping out from directly beneath the fire escape, ladder tucked beneath her armpit, Naomi looked up again.

"And this is mine," Naomi called right back, boxing her face with an index finger. "Maybe if you show me yours, we can talk properly."

Naomi could have sworn she heard a muttered "fuck" before a familiar face peered over the edge of the fenced railing down at Naomi. Her natural lips were a delicate pink, thinned in apprehension. Naomi much preferred them naked over the hue of plum she saw on her lips last.

"Are you stalking me?

"It's not what it looks like."

"It looks like you're stalking me."

"I was here first, in case you didn't notice!"

Naomi opened her mouth to speak before falling silent. She had a point. There was no way the red-head could have scaled up the fire escape without Naomi having heard. Considering she hadn't retreated into one of the windows either eliminated the possibility of her being a resident.

"Are you going to put my ladder back?"

Naomi considered the young woman a moment, massaging the crick in her neck with the ball of her palm.

"Yeah. Okay."

Propping the ladder beneath the fire escape once more, Naomi checked to make sure the joints were locked and secure before clearing the ladder, returning to peering up, curiosity piqued.

Stowing her camera away in its case, Emily made her way down, rather sure-footed in her brisk pace, palms bouncing down the railings. Scaling down the fire escape ladder, she pointed her toes downward, feeling for the step ladder before scaling down it, too, jumping the last two steps to land on the ground.

Wiping her hands free of rust against the outsides of her jeans, Emily finally met eyes with Naomi, maintaining a rather neutral facade that read a touch too forced. Her cheeks were pink, but Naomi went ahead and chalked that up to traveling sixty feet downward in less than two minutes.

"So what were you doing exactly?"

"Taking pictures."

Naomi smiled. Why did she think this would go any other way?

"Of me?"

Emily huffed quietly, arms wrapping loosely around her chest. Naomi counted five Mississippis before Emily finally decided on her safest answer.

"Of the alleyway. The buildings. The people in the streets."

Naomi shrugged. "It's no big deal, really. It's just if they're going up on Instagram, I at least want to check my angles."

"Why are you so sure I took pictures of you?"

Naomi's eyes flickered over Emily's frame, grounded in a defensive stance. Her weight was thrown to one hip, arms having grown slightly tighter around her chest. Her gaze was unfaltering, almost penetrating. Definitely on the offensive. Emily was terrible at this game, there was just no denying it; and she must have known it, too. Emily knew she was losing.

"Come on, look at me. Hair matted, no bra. My cardigan is longer than my shorts. I'm in the middle of an alleyway, smoking a cigarette by my lonesome. You've got to admit, that's some artsy shit right there." Naomi's shoulders shook lightly in a laugh before she leaned in and added, throwing her fingers up in quotations, "Observation of Self-Deprecation".

For the first time, Naomi saw Emily crack a smile, her eyes laughing the giggle she contained in her throat as her lips curled upward involuntarily.

Riding her new-found wind, Naomi reached into her cardigan pocket, presenting Emily with her nearly-empty pack of cigarettes. Nodding her head back towards the patio, Naomi asked, "Join me for a smoke?"

Emily regarded the pack for a beat before unfurling her arm from her chest, gently plucking out the loosest stick.

Naomi pocketed the smokes, turning and leading the way to the table, making sure to reach the seat before Emily so that she could pull it out.

Emily murmured a "thank you", taking the seat graciously, fiddling with the still-unlit cigarette between her fingers.

Naomi lurched forward from where she had just rested against the wall, producing a lighter before Emily waved her off with a polite smile.

"I try not to make it a habit. Do you mind if I save it for later?"

Naomi shrugged and shook her head, settling back against the brick before lighting a cigarette of her own. "It's yours. Enjoy it."

Hoisting her camera case up atop the table, Emily unzipped a smaller compartment, slipping the cigarette in with care before securing it shut. Flicking at the zipper, she stole a glance at Naomi as the taller woman exhaled off to the side, watching a skittish alley cat stiffly pass them by.

"My sister, did she . . . she didn't talk to you or your friend the other night, did she?"

Naomi brought her attention back to Emily, clearing her throat.

"Will this work both ways? I answer a question, you answer a question?"

Emily frowned, looking annoyed at the newly proposed complication, but she eventually nodded. It was enough for Naomi to continue.

"Truth is, we didn't even see her. If she got her hands on anything recent, it wasn't us that gave it to her."

"Us? So you and Cook, you both-"

"Ah-ah," Naomi wagged a finger in Emily's direction, flicking the ash of her cigarette loose as she did so. "My turn. What's your name?"

"Emily. You and Cook are both dealers?"

"Emily." Naomi tasted each syllable thoughtfully. "It's pretty. My name is Naomi, by the way."

Emily blushed in embarrassment for being called on her manners, but pride kept her lips sealed as she looked on at Naomi, expectant all the same.

Naomi yielded. "And yes."

"Is that how you know Effy?"

Naomi's eyes narrowed playfully. "For a twin, you're really bad at taking turns."

"Yeah, well, you get sick of it after a while."

Naomi smiled. "I don't really know Effy. She and Cook used to date, but that was months ago." Naomi shrugged. "I couldn't tell you her birthday, but I know what her orgasm sounds like."

"No thanks," Emily shook her head with a laugh, closing her eyes and doing her best not to let her imagination run. Emily was thankful for Naomi's next question.

"How do you know Eff?"

"We're roommates. Have been for about a month now."

"Did you know her before?"

Emily pursed her lips thoughtfully. "No." She could tell by the way Naomi let her cigarette burn unattended that the blonde was awaiting a little more than one syllable. "I met her on the streets, rather similar to this encounter, actually. Except it was night. I'd gotten permission to set up my camera on one of the rooftops in this area." Emily looked up at the rooftops surrounding them, but they must not have been the location she spoke of because she brought her gaze back down unceremoniously. "I was mostly trying to capture long exposure shots. The lights in the club district are some of the most interesting. Sometimes you get phantom glows. Anyway, Effy was with a group that had broken off the streets into the alleyway beneath me. I took a few snapshots before I realized Effy had slumped down against the wall. Her group tried to wake her - slapped her a few times, yelled profanities. She was clearly out. And they left her. They just . . . walked away."

Emily paused, wondering how much of Effy's story was really hers to divulge before figuring it was far too late to consider that now. Naomi knew Effy. It wasn't as if they were complete strangers. Maybe that was actually worse, but Emily had a hunch that if she gave one more half-assed answer, she'd lose Naomi's patience. And rightfully so. Emily hadn't quite put her best foot forward so far. Maybe if Naomi understood what the other night had been about, they'd have a chance at something easier.

Emily continued. "I doubt by the time they rounded the corner, they even remembered she existed. I packed up and headed downstairs as quickly as I could. Luckily, no one else had gotten to her before I could. I revived her as and hailed a taxi. I barely managed dragging both of us into the house. Maybe it wasn't smart, but . . . who knows what would've happened to her."

"Jesus . . ." Naomi exhaled heavily after a beat, moving to take a pull from her cigarette before she realized it had ashed down to the filter. She flicked the long, gray cylinder free, pocketing the butt despite having a dozen others at her feet. "Cook said she was messed up, but I would never have guessed."

"She's not messed up," Emily was quick to defend. "At least, she's not anymore. She's been clean ever since she moved in with me."

"She could still be messed up," Naomi proposed with a shrug. "Sober and messed up."

Emily's lip twitched as her eyes fell from Naomi to the table. This time she was silent in Effy's defense. She was sort of hoping Naomi could shed some more light on her mysterious roommate, not cast more shadows.

"Why did she and Cook break up?"

"Dunno. All he had to say on the matter was that she was a user and he was all used up."

"Who called it off?"

"He says he did."

"You don't seem convinced."

Naomi smiled at Emily's perception before her lips thinned into a pensive line. "He really loved her."

"You really care for him. You're not . . . together, are you?"

Naomi broke out into full laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with her pinky. "Oh god no!" The chuckles stuck with her as Emily's brow furrowed, but she spoke through it for Emily's sake. "Cook and I go way back. We definitely work better as friends. I'm not really for worshiping false idols and Cook's convinced his cock can cure cancer, so . . . ideological differences, y'know?"

Understanding a bit better now the humor of the situation, Emily gave a polite laugh. "So you two grew up together?"

"Partly. Cook was an exchange student who transferred to my school our freshman year. Couldn't stand him at first, but boy did he take to me. I guess he figured his best chance was with the outsider. Birds of a feather and all that." A slow smile spread across Naomi's face as she recalled a memory in private, enjoying it a moment before continuing, smile fading as her words took on a bit more weight. "Cook was dealt some shitty cards . . . some bullshit went down with his exchange family. His father didn't want him back. So Gina - my mom - took him in our sophomore year. We haven't lived apart since."

Naomi looked over at Emily, surprised to see a softer, more thoughtful expression on her face as attentive eyes met hers.

"Cook's a good guy. The best I've met," Naomi praised reverently, looking to the ceiling before meeting Emily's gaze again. "I'm sorry about your sister, but don't hate him for it, okay? It was her choice, too."

Emily's expression hardened, jaw tightening. Naomi was certain she had extinguished any good-will she had established between them before Emily outstretched her arm, fingers grabbing in a "gimmie" motion vaguely in Naomi's direction.

"A smoke?" Emily clarified, fingers still furling and unfurling. Naomi hurriedly passed her the near-empty pack and lighter in one go, watching as Emily's cigarette bobbed just inside the flame she struck.

"I haven't talked to her in almost a week now."

"Because of . . ." Naomi trailed off, hesitant to put anything to words.

They both knew. Emily nodded.

"It was Effy's drug of choice, too," Emily murmured, playing with the cigarette between her fingers. She hadn't taken a drag since her initial light. "It's not like Katie and I are angels . . . we've done other things before. Pot. MDMA." Emily broke into a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Dad took us on a fishing trip once. Me, I don't have the patience for it. Between James sticking worms down my shirt and Katie sexting her boyfriend, I decided to stray away from the dock. I found some mushrooms in the woods while I was kicking rocks and thought that maybe Katie would be up for a trip." Emily small smile faded. "So I brought them to her. She gave them one look, looked at me and then knocked them in the lake. Asked me what kind of sister I thought I was if I thought tripping around my younger brother was okay."

Emily pulled an unintentionally large drag from the cigarette, coughing almost immediately as the smoke rushed down the back of her throat. Still sputtering, she raised the cigarette in Naomi's direction. Naomi took it, pressing it to her own lips, but not before noting a light gleam on the filter. Emily was wearing clear lip balm. It tasted faintly of coconut.

"There aren't many times Katie surprises me. That was one of them. This is another."

"You should talk to her. I mean, you're twins, right? Chances are, she knows something is up."

Emily sat up straighter, eyes to Naomi. "But what do I say to her? I can't exactly reprimand her, can I? I'm not her mother. Thank God I'm not mother."

"I'm not saying change her. It's just a shame to lose someone like that. To just stop talking. It's better to be present and angry than to seem like you don't care at all. Sisters fight. At least, I imagine they do. Must've been a bitch when you two hit puberty."

Emily shrugged, but smiled all the same. "James' puberty was worse."

They both fell into their private thoughts as Emily mulled over Naomi's advice; Naomi finished off the remainder of Emily's cigarette, already feeling her chest tightening from the chain smoking.

Clearing her throat, Naomi walked her cigarette butt to the ashtray, extinguishing it with a press. "I should head back to mine. Cook'll be ringing soon and I haven't got my phone on me."

Emily checked her wristwatch, pulling the strap of her camera case over her shoulder as she stood. "It's later than I thought. I'd offer to give you a ride, but me and the step ladder barely fit as is."

"Smart car?"

"Moped."

"Smarter," Naomi praised with a look of pleasant surprise. "Maybe next time." She winked before heading out the way she came. Emily's voice chased after her.

"There's a next time?"

Naomi turned, walking backwards now as she looked at Emily. "Isn't there?" Without an answer, she turned again, confident Emily's eyes followed her until she rounded the corner out of sight.

* * *

"Answer the phone, you fucking cow!" Katie yelled, her voice bouncing against the tile walls of the empty public bathroom. She paced near the sinks, listening to the ringer go off three, four, five times before it clicked to voice-mail. Drawing the speaker flush to her lips, she let out a frustrated screech before dropping the call and nearly her phone with it, startling as the bathroom door swung open, admitting one of her co-workers.

Sighing heavily, Katie put away the phone and buried her face in the sink, turning on the tap to splash cool water over her flushed cheeks. To Katie's dismay, her co-worker joined her at the sinks, plopping her purse on the slate counter-top before pulling out her make-up clutch.

"Going anywhere tonight, Katie?" the blonde struck up casual conversation, jutting out her lips as she brought a tube of pink lipstick to touch upon them.

"Oh. No. Straight home for me," Katie replied, patting her face dry with a paper towel. From the woman's reflection, she saw the blonde cast a glance in her direction.

"Straight home on a Friday? Your man is slacking."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The blonde shrugged. "A man that doesn't have his lady on his arm on a Friday night either has a mistress or . . . you know . . ." she made a lewd cock-sucking motion with the assistance of her tongue in cheek before cracking open a powder cake that was frankly two shades darker than what her skin tone called for. Katie sighed again, not even trying to hide the disbelieving expression on her face. It didn't matter. The blonde was absorbed in applying the worst Valley Girl imitation Katie had seen in person.

"Last time I heard, you didn't have a boyfriend Chandra, so what the fuck do you know?"

"Oh, snippy!" Chandra laughed. "What, he not fuckin' you either?"

"For your information, I'm more than just some man's elbow candy. I happen to be going home to my family."

"Girl, you should be working on your own family by now, know what I'm saying?"

Katie stiffened, her eyes reading a spark of hurt before deadening. She stared hard at Chandra - just stood and stared - but the woman continued painting on her face as if she hadn't just branded Katie with an iron.

"Have fun sucking strangers' cocks," Katie said as she brushed past Chandra roughly, elbow 'accidentally' digging into the blonde's backside, causing Chandra's mascara stick to draw up across her forehead.

Chandra audibly gasped, rounding on Katie, but Katie was too fast, nearly out the door before Chandra could react. "Have fun trying to be a family!" Chandra yelled back, in no state of appearance to chase after Katie and exact retribution.

* * *

"Thanks, Mr. Tomone," Katie said as she leaned forward from the back seat, handing the taxi driver the total of her fare plus five dollars extra.

"Please. Thomas. Mr. Tomone was my father," the driver smiled, his white teeth bright against the offset of his dark skin.

"Okay. Thank you, Thomas. Not many taxi drivers are quite as happy to go through the neighborhoods, so . . . thanks."

"Not many taxi drivers do their job," Thomas replied, smile growing bigger as he managed to coax one out from Katie.

Katie scooted toward the passenger door, hand on the door handle before she paused, turning to look back at Thomas. "Can I request you by badge number?"

"Yes." Thomas reached into his breast pocket, producing a fairly simple business card on white card-stock, which Katie accepted. It had his name, a DJ moniker, his cell phone number and a clip-art graphic of turn-tables off to the side, acting as counter-balance for the text.

"DJ Debit?"

"No." Thomas tapped his lips, indicating for Katie to observe. "Débit. Débit. It is French. The 't' is silent."

"I don't trust silent tea," Katie murmured mainly to herself, rereading over the card before looking up at Thomas. "There's no badge number on here."

"Badge numbers are a hassle. People do not do their jobs. I do. You will save time calling me direct."

Katie looked over Thomas, stowing his card away in her purse. Everything her mother had taught her about strange, insistent men ran through her thoughts, but Thomas' easy smile did not seem to belong to a man with ill intent. She only listened to her mother half of the time, anyway.

"Thank you, Thomas."

"Anytime, friend."

* * *

Katie's heels clicked against the pavement as she approached the front patio, seeming louder than normal to her as she pushed through the door. Her hand almost instinctively reached for the stair railing the moment she stepped in, her feet already hopping to taking her upstairs above the chaos until Katie finally placed it. Why her heels had seemed so particularly loud. No one was screaming. Nothing was shattering. There was no chaos.

She took the stairs in reverse, mindful to step carefully until she was on even ground. She tried to take a step towards the dining room, partially visible from where she stood now, only to find her foot had dried in cement. She tried to will herself to venture in deeper, but her feet remained stalwart.

"Mom?"

No reply broke her legs from paralysis. She took a step forward.

"Dad?"

No reply. Another step forward and then another and another until Katie passed into the dining room, gripping at the door frame as she spotted the back of her father's head situated at the kitchen table. There were brown smudges on the legs of his work-out shorts, brown caked on his fingers. Katie wondered what it was until she spied the dozen-count box of chocolate-frosted donuts completely demolished sitting on the table before him.

"Dad?!" Katie squeaked, panic slipping into her voice. She let her purse drop to the ground, her phone jarring out of the loose top as it landed on the tile. If Katie were to look down, she'd notice her phone screen illuminated, a picture of Emily above the icon of a ringing telephone.

But Katie wasn't looking down. Her eyes were fixated on her father.

Rob's chin bobbed against his chest before looking up and across his shoulder at Katie.

"Dad, where's Mom?"

"She's gone, Katie. She's gone and off with her mother."

"Well, when is she coming back?"

Rob's hooded eyes stared blearily at the fridge, his body swaying somewhat.

"She _IS _coming back, right?"

"'course she is," Rob assured hollowly, still fixated on the refrigerator.

"When!"

"I don't know, Katie!" Rob howled, head whipping to face his daughter, blue eyes nearly pink from all the crying he must have done alone. " I just . . . I don't- . . . what's happening to us?"

"Dad . . ." Biting back tears, Katie hurried to her father's side, hugging his head to her stomach, rubbing circles along his shoulders. "Dad, it's okay. She just got mad. It's . . . it's gonna . . . D-does James know?"

Rob shook in a dry sob, shaking his head against Katie.

"Is he upstairs?"

Rob nodded.

"Dad, I'm gonna let James know, okay?"

Rob's sobs gained voice as he wailed, but he nodded fervently despite his protest.

Katie slowly pulled away to do as she said before Rob caught her wrist. Katie turned to face him, lip trembling, afraid to look directly at her father lest she tarnish his pedestal of rock and protector.

Rob stood shakily to his feet, palming Katie's cheek gently before pulling her into a tight hug.

"We'll do it together. As a family," he whispered impetuously, hanging on to his daughter dearly before pulling away to see tear-stained cheeks frowning before him.

* * *

"Hey, you've reached Katie's voice-mail. I'm busy or ignoring you, but either way I'll come 'round eventually. Say something."

"You've got a terrible mes-" The beep on the other line cut Emily off from her remark, her mind setting to the words she meant for Katie to be receiving in person right now. "Katie, I'm sorry. Look . . . we really need to talk. I know that's rich coming from me, but . . . Emsy shum."


	5. The One With Cunnilingus

**Author's Note: I attempted to tone down Cook's accent a bit in the interest of an easier read, especially for those whose primary language is not English. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Five:**  
**The One With Cunnilingus **

"Naoms. Naoms. Coom on now, I've go' t'get goin'."

Cook pinched Naomi's exposed toes, shaking them until Naomi finally startled to, eyes snapping open and foot retracting. As soon as she gathered that there was no immediate danger, she flopped back down out of her defensive stance against the mattress.

Throwing an arm across her forehead to shade her eyes from the sunlight peaking through the blinds, Naomi squinted up at Cook at the foot of the bed and gave the most incorrigible, "What?", Cook had heard in all his years.

"Jus' lettin' you know I'm headin' out. Gonna pick up our stoof from Johnny's."

Cook watched as the words slowly settled with Naomi, who proceeded to squint and grimace as she woke.

"Oh . . . yeah, just give me a minute to-" Naomi pushed herself upright, swaying ever so slightly in place as she paused to build up the gumption to swing her feet from beneath the covers.

Cook chuckled. "S'alright, Naoms. No need. I'm a big boy. You just get soom sleep, yeah?"

Naomi blinked, surrendering to gravity, the heels of her palms slowly slipping and giving way, landing her flat on her back and successfully integrated with the bed once more.

"Mm. Yeah . . ." Naomi curled onto her side, mumbling the words into her pillow before she was out again, mouth still hanging open from the last syllable she had managed to say.

Cook smiled down at her, resisting the temptation of pinching at Naomi's toes once more as her legs slowly relaxed back into the restful position they were in moments before.

He patted down his pant legs, mentally checking off his wallet and phone before slowly rotating on his heels, eyes scanning for something missing. Spotting his keys dangling precariously from the kitchen table, Cook hopped right to them. He tossed them up into the air and caught them with practiced ease as he walked out the apartment, making sure to lock up behind him.

* * *

Cook opted to walk most places. Waiting around for public transit made him feel too idle. Cab fare made him feel too hostile. Regardless, Cook knew, once a week, that dishing out forty bucks there and forty bucks back was an inevitability if he wanted to stay in business. Nothing could be heavier than 5 oz of methamphetamine carried on foot for a twenty-four mile stretch.

Hailing a cab, Cook slipped into the first to stop, rattling off an address effortlessly as he settled on the middle hump and fastened his seat-belt around his waist. Propping his wrists up on either seat shoulder, he leaned forward right as the driver was throwing the vehicle into drive.

"Think you could wait fivteen minutes and drive me back this way?"

"It'll cost extra."

"S'not what I asked, mate." Cook brandished half a dozen twenty dollar bills before stuffing them back into his pocket.

The driver smiled and readjusted his rear-view, settling more comfortably into his seat before his fingertips hovered over the stereo player. "What station you like, bub?"

* * *

"Is this it? It looks abandoned," The taxi driver remarked as he pulled up to a towering barbed gate, an unmanned security kiosk and an elevated keypad to his left. It had taken three miles on a single lane stretch of road to get here. The only neighbor seemed to be an equally long stretch of thick woods on the opposite side of the road.

Beyond the gate was a factory building of some sort, constructed mostly of rusting sheet metal and concrete, perhaps six stories high, if not one story from floor to ceiling. The building resembled an aircraft factory in some regards, with its rounded ceiling and tell-tale paint markers all along the asphalt outside. The cement lot was very nearly empty with the exception of a few junk cars and parts, none operational by the looks of them. No aircrafts were in sight. The chain link fence dividing the barren collection of metal and concrete stretched for yards, maybe even a mile, in each direction, private property signs posted every forty yards or so, bold white text against an intimidating shade of 'warning!' red. Where there should have been a building, company or lot name at the entrance gate, there was only a plastic sign, cracked and yellowed with age, whatever text that had been there prior sunblasted past the point of recognition.

"Not a lot of work in the summer. Seasonal business, y'know?" Cook pulled out an extra ten on top of his cab fare, reaching over to stuff the cash in the taxi driver's breast pocket, patting it for good measure. "Give me fivteen. Got soom paperwork I've gotta fish up."

Stepping out of the car, Cook tugged his bulky canvas jacket snug against his shoulders, crossing the front of the taxi to quickly dial in a six digit code in the keypad. As the gate jerked and rattled open, Cook walked towards it, extending an open palm back behind him towards the taxi driver as he mouthed, "wait here". Slipping past the gate, Cook fell into a brisk stroll towards the main building, looking back over his shoulder on occasion to make sure the taxi driver had heeded his order.

Entering through a side door, it didn't take long before Cook's presence was accounted for. Two men with grim faces and hands hovering just at their hips looked Cook up and down before stepping down, their arms relaxing back to their sides.

"Johnny in?" Cook asked casually as he looked around, never not over how surreal a place could look - like nothing else he had encountered. Almost fabricated, like a villain's lair. The building was in fact multi-stories, at least partially. The perimeter was lined with metal stairs that lead to the floors above , but carved in the very middle of the building was a 40ft x 80ft peristylium of sorts, except in place of columns around the perimeter, there were steel beams; A glass-paned ceiling, reduced in part to just its beaming, many of the panes partially or completely busted in, loomed over a good hundred feet above them.

At some point in time, before Cook had taken on the big leagues of drug-dealing, a pool had been excavated in the center of the building, piles of concrete and dirt from the construction pushed aside out of the way in corners, leaving the pool front clean and unobstructed. From the weeds and vines making their homes throughout the cement planters, the rubble had been and was most likely there to stay. There were no traditional pool markers to indicate depth, but Cook had always reckoned the immense body of water could possibly be deep enough to break a fall from the ceiling above. Maybe. There was a desk set up out of the splash zone of the pool, but it was currently unoccupied, despite being the most indisputably comfortable seat in the room.

"He's doing inventory. Go find him yourself," one of the men responded, jerking his head in the direction of a nearby stairwell before resuming his seat on a pallet of tightly-sealed something-or-other, contents hidden by a layer of black plastic wrap.

Cook headed upstairs, mindful not to poke his nose behind any closed doors lest their was an active lab cooking behind one of them. He spotted Johnny's dirty straw hair briefly in his peripherals as he passed by an open door, backtracking before popping his head through the door frame.

"Yo, Johnny, got a minute?"

Johnny looked up from his clipboard distractedly, narrowing his eyes on Cook as he shifted his focus. "Here for your stuff? Wait downstairs. I'll bring it to you."

"Actually, I was hopin' to talk wif ya?"

Johnny looked irritated, nostrils flaring as his upper lip twitched, but he holstered his pencil behind his ear and placed the clipboard down on the nearest surface. "Ya got five minutes, Cookie."

Cook slipped the rest of the way into the room, partially closing the door behind them for a spot of privacy. "I'll keep it simple, yeah? I need more money, which means I need more stoof to push. I was figurin' y'could double me up? I even brought enough cash to front the ova haff."

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Front the extra? Is that so? 'cuz I seem to remember you still owing me some money from a couple of months ago."

"Thought we 'ad that sorted, don't we? I pay you a little extra every drop, 'membuh?"

"That's when all you had was a little extra. If you've got enough for ten ounces, you've got enough to pay me off." Johnny took a step towards Cook, squaring his shoulders and raising his head to at least imply that he was taller than the younger man. "So why don't you hand me the cash - all of it - and run downstairs. I'll bring you your usual when I'm good and ready and we won't have to worry about this you owin' me business any longer."

Cook withdrew his hands from his jacket pockets, splaying his palms near his hips, trying his best to indicate no intention of disrespect. "Johnny, mate. Please. Let me double up and I'll 'ave all your money next drop. All of it. Promise."

"Sorry, Cookie. Everyone's got their corner. Start pushin' too hard in any one venue and the cops'll be on to us like sharks to blood. Boss plays it smart." Johnny took another step forward. "You can hand over that money now."

With no room to step back, Cook puffed out his chest despite himself, feeling aggressive energy coil within his muscles. He kept it out of his voice as he continued to attempt a peaceful persuasion.

"Okay, okay, no pushin'. I'll give ya yer money. But there's gotta be somethin' extra I can be doin', yeah? Clean the pool? Trim your hair? I'll even sell spliff, mate."

Johnny stopped in front of Cook, sizing him up.

"Now that you mention it, I do got a bit of a predicament that needs sortin'. There's a punk - my son-in-law, as it so happens to be . . . owes me for a batch I spotted him in good faith. I'd take care of the issue myself, except my babydoll Kaley would have words for days if I roughed him up any. If you can get the money from him, I'll put in a word for you as the next pool boy. Oh, and Cookie, if you gotta give him a few purple tattoos, just keep them below the neck, yeah? I can't have my daughter on the arm of some pussy-lookin' flake. The quieter, the better. Think you can do that?"

Cook looked intrigued, but not entirely sold. "Whot am I lookin' at, exactly? He's not soom ex-marine, isse? Am I gonna coom back wif a limp and no dough?"

Johnny chuckled, working his wallet from his back pocket to pull out a picture. It was a professional wedding shot, by the looks of the garb, a runtish, mousy-haired man arm-in-arm with a tanned blonde that held a mild resemblance to Johnny. "Scrawny bird. Name's Baldwin. Not sure what my sweet girl sees in 'im."

Cook stepped forward, drawing his head nearer to the picture before straightening up with a confident grin. A fight with Kaley White would be more of a challenge.

"I'm yer man. Where's the place?"

* * *

"Hey, this is just the fare!" Cook's unofficial afternoon escort barked as he fingered through the bills handed to him for a third time. Already halfway out the backseat, Cook's hands remained grappled to the car frame as he popped his head back inside the cabin.

"S'whot I owe you, yeah?"

"Where's the extra?"

"Don't need ya anymore, mate. Bug off."

Cook's heels narrowly avoided the back tires of the taxi as the driver sped off the moment Cook shut the door behind him. Laughing at the thirty-something year-old's temper tantrum and tossing a middle finger in his rearview, Cook stepped out of the street and onto the sidewalk, taking in the neighborhood.

It was a neat little community, boasting generously-sized one-story houses of about six varieties, each including their own two-car driveway and matte, pastel paint job. If there were kids, they were in school. A few residents poked around their lawns, but for the most part, the street was quiet. Which meant Cook had to be, too.

Double-checking the letters on the mailbox beside him to make sure he had the right address, Cook started towards the house, playing out plausible scenarios in his head to keep himself sharp and ready for anything.

His boots echoed against the wooden porch as he jogged up the steps. Just as he was about to withdraw his hand from his pocket to ring the doorbell, a sound all-too-familiar caught Cook's attention, his ears straining to clarify that what he was hearing was indeed a woman moaning from inside the house.

"No fookin' way," Cook chortled hushedly, temporarily holding his breath, standing still as a statue so that he could pick up every last breathy sound, mouth hung open in a wide grin.

"Mmm- No. Wait, go back to where you we-Oh! Yes!"

Chuckling like a mute hyena, Cook took the steps down from the patio in feather steps, following the excitable voices. He crept as close alongside the house exterior as the surrounding shrubbery would allow, turning a corner before spotting an open window just a few feet away.

"No fookin' way . . ." Cook repeated under his breath, flattening himself against the brick completely now with no garden to mind underfoot. Inching his way closer, he stopped just short of the window, stealing a split-second look before returning to his cover, grin broadening. Whoever they were and whatever specific activities they were taking part in Cook couldn't say from his cursory glance, but there was one thing he had gathered. They certainly weren't going to notice if he took a second look.

Peeking in once more, Cook's eyes automatically drew to the naked woman sitting upright at the foot of a bed, arms splayed behind her propping her up as her head rolled back, eyes closed and mouth eternally open, even when there wasn't a breath of pleasure passing through. Kneeling on the floor before her, face buried between her legs, was what Cook assumed to be a man by the look of the hands grappling the woman's thighs. A gold wedding band adorned his ring finger.

Attention returning to the woman, Cook forced his gaze away from her pink nipples long enough to note that the Moaning Myrtle before him was brunette, petite and definitely not Kaley White. The male had yet to resurface, the brunette's fingers dragging at the back of his scalp, pressing him closer, but Cook had a hunch whose mousy hair she was tugging at.

Switching his phone to camera mode, Cook snapped a few shots before stepping into full view of the window to take some better angles, nodding his head in approval all the while.

"I had you all wrong, mate. Look at'chu!" Cook laughed, raising his voice just enough so that it would carry over the woman's mounting orgasm.

Practically jumping out of her skin, the woman yelped, tearing the man from between her legs as she tucked her breasts behind her arm. Pulling her feet up on the bed, she half-kicked, half-scooched her way up to the other side, yanking the tidily-tucked comforter free to crawl beneath it, leaving Baldwin to blink back the spots from his vision before Cook could come into his focus.

"No fookin' way!" Cook cheered, snapping a few more shots of Baldwin's deer-in-headlights expression as he slowly and then all at once came to to the situation at hand. Scrambling to his feet, wiping at his mouth with the back of his wrist, Baldwin started towards the window. Cook took a few precautionary steps back, but held a finger up all the same, his attention flitting between Baldwin and his phone, which he still kept trained on the scenery before him.

"I wouldn't take anuva step unless you want Johnny t'see what a not-so-cunning linguist you are, mate. You got caught. It's ovah."

Baldwin's eyes bugged out of his head, feet cementing him in place. His fingers grasped at the air as panic began to set in.

"You can't tell Johnny!"

"You tellin' me whot I can't do?"

"No! I mean- Shit!"

"Whoa, whoa. Easy, mate," Cook mollified through a laugh, still tickled, pocketing his phone as a gesture of good will. The hook was in. It was in deep. Now if he could just reel it in nice and slow, Cook was going to have his biggest catch in a long while. "I'm a reasonable guy. I'm sure we can work somefin' out."

* * *

"What's this?" Johnny snapped, his peripherals catching the sight of something being thrown on the table where he sat in front of, too wrapped up in keeping his numbers straight to give it or Cook a proper look-over as Cook strolled into the room.

"Your stoof." Cook took a wad of bills and placed it down beside the bag of cocaine he had just unburdened himself of. "And your money."

Johnny looked up at Cook with something best described as stern surprise before he turned an eye to the goods on the table, his clipboard clattering to the ground and his mouth dropping along with it.

"You rob him?" Johnny asked as he swiveled in his seat and pulled the bag of drugs closer to him, taking it in his palm before hefting its mass thoughtfully. "Lightweight barely touched it." Johnny let the bag fall back to the table, reaching for the bills. He broke the rubber band with a single, sharp tug of his finger, shuffling through the assorted fives, tens, twenties and rare hundreds until each bill was accounted for.

"Just took back what was yours. And this 3DS." Cook pulled out the crimson handheld console from his jacket pocket, jiggling it with the excitement of a child before slipping it back out of sight.

Johnny continued to look equally pleased and sour, probably at the thought of his son-in-law being so easy to push around. He counted through the bills a second time, leaving Cook to look on expectant and somewhat bored.

"Not a scratch on 'im, by the way. At least, not from me. So . . ."

"You did good, Cookie. I'll drop your name next time the boss is in town. Now, you pickin' up your usual or what?"

Cook stared at Johnny, eyebrows raised in disbelief. He rotated his jaw before closing his mouth shut, brushing the bulb of his nose with his thumb before he stepped forward and smacked his palm against the table just in front of Johnny. Johnny's blue eyes narrowed in on Cook's own as he raised his chin high. Cook held the stare with an air of seriousness before breaking out into a low string of laughs.

"What's so funny?" Johnny spat, lip twitching.

"I got somefin' else for ya."

Maintaining eye contact with Johnny, Cook reached into his jean pocket for his phone, placing it on the table before pushing it between them with an index finger. With a few seconds of navigation, he had the blackmail pictures of Baldwin pulled up. Tapping his finger on the screen, Cook finally broke away from the tense stare to glance down at the device. Johnny followed suit, brow knitting in confusion at the sight of some random, naked woman before Cook scrolled through the rest of the photos, progressively revealing Baldwin as the man between the curtains.

"Someone 'ad a hankerin' for soom extra-marital muff," Cook reported gleefully, watching Johnny's Adam's apple bob with one of the most forceful swallows he'd seen in awhile. Johnny grabbed at the phone, shoving it to his face as he flitted through the photographs for himself. Though his nostrils flared, his lips pulled back in an unmistakable smile.

"I got you, you son of a bitch," Johnny muttered through clenched teeth, pushing out his chair behind him as he stood and clasped Cook's arm, shaking it heartily. "Oh Cookie, more than just hearts'll be breakin' tonight! Well done! Well done!"

Cook laughed a little uneasily, working his arm out of Johnny's fervent jostling after a beat. Johnny let him go, handing Cook his phone. Running a hand through his limp hair, Johnny let out a joyous holler, eyes twinkling in mirth.

Johnny turned to Cook, and for a second, Cook feared the man was going to leap the table and hug him. "You and me, Cookie? Consider us square."

"Cool. So, uh . . . can I get that ten ounces?"

"Five. And Boss'll hear about what you've done for me."

* * *

"Where the fuck are you, Cook? You left three hours ago!"

Cook winced slightly, lulling his head away from the speaker of his phone. "I know, I know. Got a little caught up. Shot the shit wif the boys. Listen. I'm on my way 'ome now to drop off the groceries. You wanna come out with me after?"

"To where?"

"I dunno. Skin Deep. Rough Rider's. Jus' somewhere we can celebrate!"

"And what are we celebrating?"

Cook sighed as he deflated, straining to think of a reason other than the truth he was absent-mindedly eager to share right until good sense struck him. Naomi had no clue that Cook had been in Johnny's debt. It hadn't been her burden to shoulder. Neither was his fishing for new jobs anything Naomi needed to fret about. As far as Naomi needed to know, they were coasting easy towards Denver, right on schedule.

"Booze? Breasts? Our ability to fully enjoy both?"

A heavy sigh followed by a stretch of silence prefaced Naomi's next response. "It doesn't burn you out? Two nights a week, minimum. Never catches up to you?"

"That's different. That's work."

"Yeah, well, it's sounding like work to me right now. I'm sorry, Cook, but if you're going to be out, I think I'm gonna take advantage of the apartment to myself."

"Yeah, alrigh'," Cook mumbled. "See ya in fivteen, Naoms."

* * *

After a fresh change of clothes and catching up with Naomi, Cook had hit the streets, but not before weighing out and tucking a few grams away in case he came across an errant buyer. There was no reason work and play couldn't mix and if Naomi felt otherwise, well . . . she wasn't much of a wing man, anyway.

He found himself at Skin Deep, in spite of his craving for adventure. Or perhaps in part to. He hadn't forgotten his first Effy sighting in months happening just a week ago, however much of a train wreck it had been. She had managed to escape and she'd been eager to. That was fine. All of it was fine. Everything was fine. And Cook was determined to have a fine time.

By himself.

Without an ID.

So, so sober.

"Buy me a drink?" didn't seem to have quite the same alluring ring to it as it did when women used the line on him. After being laughed at and brushed off for the third time, Cook decided he'd have to wait for a familiar face over twenty-one before he could get his drink on.

Sitting at the bar only agitated his thirst, but the dance floor was still rather barren, the evening simply too young. And now that he thought on it, he doubted Effy would ever make a reappearance here of all places. He should've gone to Fishponds. Uncle Keith would've seen to him properly.

"One starfucker, please," a familiar lisp ordered beside Cook, drawing his eyes to a done-up Katie Fitch leaning slightly over the counter-top, a heel popped into the air acting as a counterbalance. Cook, still sorely lacking in names for either twin, weighed his chances of upsetting the handsy twin or catching up with the flirty twin. 50/50. Either way, anything was going to be more fun than watching people trickle in hoping to spot a face that wanted nothing to do with him.

"Babe?" he asked tentatively as he leaned into her line of sight, propping his back against the counter-top edge.

Katie either did not hear him or simply did not register his voice or the term of endearment familiar enough to insinuate herself, but Cook's extended presence in the edge of her vision caused her gaze to flit to him. Seeing him looking back at her, she briefly checked behind her for someone else he could have possibly been eyeing before turning back to him. "Sorry? Me?"

Cook nodded and as he did, baring a toothy grin, Katie recognized him.

"Oh! Cook, is it?"

"An' you're not stranglin' me, so you must be Fing One."

"Excuse me?"

"You're a twin, yeah? I met your sister the ovah day. Wasn't too keen about our acquaintance."

"What, you met her here?"

"S'right."

"Two nights ago?"

"Yeah."

"Did you tell her I bought from you?"

"Didn't have tah. She already knew some'ow."

Katie groaned, deflating over the counter-top, rising only as her order was sat beside her. She raised an index finger up in the air intended for the bartender, asking for his rapt patience as she picked up the mixed shooter and knocked it back.

Seeing his opportunity, Cook leaned in to Katie's ear as she recovered from the shot. "Buy for me and I'll pay yer tab."

Without any confirmation that she had heard him, Katie licked her lips and turned toward the barkeeper, lowering her hand. "Two more of the same? Thanks." Figuring she would be waiting for another couple of minutes, Katie sank onto the stool beside her thigh, looking perturbed.

"That it? That's the whole reason she hasn't talked to me? It's got to be." Katie turned her head to Cook. "What did she say to you?"

"Told me nevuh to sell to you again. Your sister's got a grip on 'er."

"Like I'm a fucking two-year old . . ." Katie mumbled under her breath, beginning to simmer at the thought of Emily's meddling. She didn't feel nearly as guilty for not having been the bigger woman and breaking their line of silence to tell Emily about their mother's sudden move.

The bartender returned with two starfuckers, placing them in front of Katie before pulling away at the beck of another customer. Taking a drink in either hand, Katie stood and walked a few paces before looking back behind her at Cook. "You coming?"

Cook, who hadn't been entirely sure whether or not he'd get to wet his lips, hopped out of his seat and followed after Katie, who handed him a drink the moment they were out of eyesight of the bar. Claiming a lounge couch for themselves just off the dance floor, Cook raised his glass to Katie.

"Cheers."

With a light 'tink' of glass and Katie's echo of Cook's sentiment, the two shot, Cook beating Katie in his eagerness, placing his glass down triumphantly on the table before them. Katie made a face as the alcohol settled in her stomach, but it passed after a moment, leaving her vaguely sullen expression free to return.

"Not wif your man tonight?" Cook observed, picking up his glass and tipping it back to his lips to lap up the last remaining droplets of liquor. His eyes jumped in the direction of the bar as often as they returned to Katie, his leg bobbing just the slightest.

"Didn't really feel like company."

"I'm company."

"You're also buying."

Cook let out a laugh. "Nice. A girl wif clear priorities. I like you. But uh, I don't like to drink wif gloomy Gretas, so maybe spill 'bout what's eatin' ya?"

"Gloomy Gretas?" Katie cast Cook an incredulous stare before snickering slightly. "I get that you're foreign, but I'm pretty sure that's ridiculous even in your tongue."

Cook merely stuck his tongue out and waggled it, quirking his eyebrows as he pointed his tongue and mirrored a few of his more favored motions in the bedroom. Katie tsked and shook her head, standing abruptly to the announcement of, "I'm getting more shots."

"Patrón!" Cook hollered after her through a fit of laughs. "That other stoof tastes like watermelon bath wash!"

When Katie returned, it was with a server's tray expertly balanced over the span of her palm, held slightly above her head to avoid the moving bodies around her. As she placed it down on the table and reclaimed her spot against the armrest of the lounge couch, Cook was overjoyed to see eight shots of what looked to be gold Patrón.

Katie glanced at Cook briefly, curious to see if the pain of his wallet would register on his face, but his toothy grin was far from upset, itchy hand already reaching for the nearest shot glass before it retracted at a thought.

"Oi. Your sister . . . she 'ad X's on her hands. I remembuh, 'cuz . . ." Cook trailed off to mime grappling his own shirt before dropping the charade and getting to his point. "'ow you gettin' us drinks?"

"Danny's got - Danny, my boyfriend, that is - he's got friends." Katie let her clutch slip from her wrist before splitting it open, working her fake ID out of its plastic sleeve to hand to Cook.

"Katherine Fitch . . ." Cook read aloud, admiring the seamless handiwork of the forgery before handing it back to Katie.

"Katie." The twin corrected patiently, stowing away her ID and resealing her clutch.

Raising a shot glass above his head, handing Katie another, Cook toasted, "To Katie," before knocking the Patrón back, yipping as the bottom of his shot glass hit the table top. The shot went down considerably rougher for Katie, who winced and coughed a few times, wishing she had had the foresight to order a chaser, or at the very least, some salt.

"Ready to talk yet?" Cook nudged Katie gently as they both sat back.

Katie frowned, but answered all the same, staring out across the dance floor. "My mom left us. My dad. My brother. Emily. She didn't even tell me goodbye. The last thing I remember her saying to me is "wipe up those breadcrumbs'." A wounded laugh bubbled out of Katie's throat. "Isn't that nice? Last memory of my mom."

Cook sat up from his lounging position to one a bit more upright, leaning forward to see Katie's face clearly as she continued to stare off. He waited a beat to see if Katie would continue, but as the silence stretched, he sought to keep it at bay. "That's rough, kid. When'd it happen?"

"Yesterday."

"Think she'll come back?"

Katie blinked before turning to look at Cook. "To my dad? I don't know. I don't want to have to go to Grammy's just to see her . . ."

"Don't chase 'er."

Cook's simple, abrupt advice took Katie off guard, drawing her out of her head long enough to really look at Cook. His lips were thin, his thumb brushing over a tattoo of his name settled above the webbing of his thumb and index finger. Katie had never noticed it before.

"Parents . . . they're only parents so long as they make the effort. Your mother, she left you. So why you got t'be the one to chase her? If she loves you, she'll make it work. Maybe she just needs time to think, yeah?" Cook looked up, whatever dark clouds that had marked his first words dissipating into a lighter expression, his lips curling back into a resting smile. "'til then, why don't we party like mommy's not lookin'?"

Taking another shot glass and handing one to Cook, it was Katie's turn to make the toast. "Chasers - who needs them?"


	6. The One Where The Devil Tempts The Angel

**Chapter Six:**  
**The One Where The Devil Tempts The Angel**

The club steadily picked up through the night, the last hour of yesterday drawing in the crowds so that by the time the new day hit, the dance floors were packed with pulsating bodies. Cook and Katie had danced all the way into tomorrow, finding themselves stumbling to the bar every twenty minutes or so to wet their lips. Katie remembered at one point attempting to tally how many rounds they had had, only to realize the bill was easily $100 at the very least. And that was forty-five minutes ago.

Sipping on a glass of room temperature water as she waited for Cook's order to be complete, Katie drummed her fingers idly against the bar counter. Although her feet were well sore and the sheen of sweat on her body no doubt thicker than the blush she had powdered on when she was still opting to pretend that nothing at all was wrong, the realization of what she had to go back home to made her wish for a groundhog day of the last four hours.

She could already tell she had met her limit for drinking. Standing toe to toe with James Cook had taken quite some endurance, but Katie had managed to match his speed. His fortitude, on the other hand . . . Katie had a feeling she had more of a liver to harm than Cook did and she planned on keeping it that way. Besides, she couldn't afford to get sloppy. She'd made peace with that fact the moment she refused to meet Danny and his friends at the Montrose beach house party. He'd been talking about it for weeks. There was no way he was going to break away to meet her down at the usual haunts, especially after the Emily fiasco at Skin Deep. She wasn't stupid. A girl wasn't safe without a man over her shoulder.

Sure enough, when she'd asked, Danny said that the host of the party was a close friend of his and to leave would be rude. She had wanted to break up with him right then. Over the phone. Just did and done. Reflecting on it, she wasn't sure why she didn't. Maybe with everything suddenly changing around her, Danny was, to no credit of his own, the only stable, unchanging element in an otherwise combustible solution.

His wallet. His connections. His absolute lack of desire to start a family. Sure, she'd take compassionate and currently present in a heartbeat over what Danny had to offer now, but Katie never thought she'd have to prepare for a time where neither Jenna nor Emily would be there to turn to. She never knew she'd have to rely on a man for a sliver of comfort.

But that wasn't entirely true, was it? She could call Emily right now. Her sister was expecting it, despite having ignored all of Katie's calls and texts for how many days? But that wasn't the point. It couldn't be anymore if Katie wanted to get past all of this. And she did. But now the phone call could not be that simple, could never be that simple. Now, on top of everything, Katie had to tell Emily that their mother had left, and if she were being honest, in her sourer moods, she couldn't help but think that maybe if Emily had stayed and worked through her differences with Jenna, that this would not be a reality to be dealt with. Calling Emily was out of the question earlier and it was _certainly_ out of the question now with more than a few drinks in her. If peace with Emily was truly what she wanted, the last thing she needed was to let the liquor do the talking.

Finally, after entirely too much time for introspection for Katie's taste, the bartender returned, placing Cook's shots in front of her. Katie carefully pinched them between her fingers, carrying her glass of water in the other hand back to the couch they had come to favor over the night.

Cook was dutifully guarding Katie's spot beside the armrest, his knees curled into the cushion and an arm draped across the back of the couch. The disorderly party of four beside them jostled against Cook's side rather frequently, but he seemed remarkably unbothered by the jarring invasions of space. instead he smiled at Katie's approach, pulling his knees out of her seat just in time for her to reclaim it after leaning over briefly to place Cook's shots on the table before them. Migrating his arm from the upholstery to around Katie's bare shoulders, Cook scooched in closer, eyeballing the water in her right hand.

"Oi, don't tell me you're out already!" Cook exclaimed, pointing to Katie's glass as he sat up and gathered his shots in both hands. "It's a free tab, babe. I mean it. Cookie doesn't fib."

"I believe you," Katie reassured, raising her water glass for Cook to clink his shot glasses to, watching slightly impressed as he downed numbers twenty-something just as easily as he had downed shot number one. Leaning in closer, she still had to raise her voice to supersede the music. "I wouldn't normally go for a drink, let alone a dance with somebody I'd just met, you know."

Cook licked his lips clean. "Yeah? So why did ya?"

Katie rested her head on Cook's shoulder, body curling closer towards him. "You seem nice."

Cook smiled down at the top of Katie's head, sneaking a glimpse of brown roots through her otherwise plum red mane. "I am nice," he agreed, rubbing Katie's upper arm affectionately. He must've held her for five whole minutes before she spoke, drawing Cook out of his daze and making him realize that perhaps he too would be wise to heed an alcohol limit.

"Coom again?" Cook requested, rubbing his blurry eyes with his thumb and index finger as the music and lights came crashing back in all around them.

Katie, thinking Cook could not hear her muffled voice against his shoulder, rose her head and looked up at him. "I don't want to go home. I just want to dance."

"We can do that."

Katie scoffed, head slumping back down on his shoulder. "Maybe _you_ can. I'm exhausted . . ."

"I can fix that."

Katie laughed. "How?"

"Whot do you mean, 'how'? A little help from Tina, that's how."

"You snort that, right?" Katie asked as she pushed herself up to sitting, trying to gather some context clues from Cook's body language. He looked absolutely offended.

"Uh, if you're a fookin' caveman. Your boy didn't smoke it wif ya?"

Suddenly it all made sense. Cook was a drug dealer. She bought meth from Cook for her boyfriend. It was literally their only other meeting.

"What? Oh! Meth!"Katie shouted a little over-excitedly, earning a "Shhh!" from Cook paired with "are-you-crazy?" eyes. Katie squeaked an irate "sorry!" out of embarrassment before rolling her shoulders back.

"I didn't take anything that night. I thought I might would've, but I changed my mind." As Cook's stare lingered, Katie sat up and shrugged her shoulders. "What? I can change my mind. I didn't want to be around all his faux friend cling-ons anyway, did I?"

"You tellin' me you're a virgin?"

Katie rolled her eyes. "Some ways more than others."

Cook's grin spread as he slapped his knee, wiggling his way upright out of the sinking sofa cushions.

"Now, jus' so we're clear, I'm only gonna ask you this once. I'll leave it at whatevuh you say. Your sister would kill me if I sold you a bump, but she didn't say nuffin' 'bout a free sample. Stuff'll keep you dancin' 'til the next sunset."

Katie sat up beside Cook. With her interest clearly piqued, Cook motioned for her to huddle with him. They both leaned forward and inward, allowing Cook's lengthy offer to be heard in full.

"Now I don't fib, remembuh? I know this drug like the back of me own 'and. You're gonna be high for hours, maybe twelve. You're not gonna be able to sleep, not gonna wanna eat. But you are gonna dance. And you're not gonna stop dancin'. I'll watch ya. You can stay at my place. I've got a roommate - she's a ball-buster, but she'll leave you alone. One trip, fully paid for, wif amenities and a chauffeur. What do you say, princess? Wanna dance?"

Katie studied him for a good, long moment as his face went from patiently awaiting to lighting up with an impish, but all the same disarming smile. He didn't look like a man that wanted trouble, nor a man that could not handle it when it inevitably fell into his lap. He was nice, and Katie wanted to believe it was for all the right reasons. So she did.

Slipping her hand in his as she would if they were pairing up for the cha-cha, Katie asked, "I'm not going to want to fuck you, am I?"

Cook laughed. "If you do, it's not gonna be because of the drugs." Cook straightened back up, slipping his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket to insure the goods were still accounted for. "Oi, 'fore we do this. You don't work tomorrow, do ya?"

"You think I'd be drinking like this if I did? I've got the next two days off, actually."

"Tops, mate. Fookin' tops. You got a stick of gum?"

* * *

It had taken some convincing at the bathroom doors as Katie and Cook debated which restroom to stall up in. Katie made the obvious point of there simply being more stalls to occupy in the Women's, while Cook valiantly took to arms that 80% of men were just using the restroom to piss in the urinals, leaving the stalls free. It wasn't until Katie stressed that she was not at all interested in catching a glimpse of anyone's vomiting inchworm that Cook finally conceded to using the women's restroom, if only for the laugh he got out of Katie's animated delivery.

Keeping her head down, Katie took a deep breath as they both stared down the restroom door. Noticing Katie's reservation, Cook slipped off his jacket and enveloped Katie in it, blanketing it over her head. She smiled and gathered the fabric closer to her, feeling Cook's arm wrap around her waist to guide her as he pushed the door open with his other, striding in with long, confident steps.

A woman retouching her lipstick stopped and gasped as Cook smiled in her mirror in passing, before turning his attentions into the stalls, skipping two that weren't quite to his low sanitation requirements before stepping into the third. He made quick work of the latch before hopping up on the toilet, sitting his bottom on the tank and his shoes on the bowl to maintain his balance, giving Katie a bit more room to move.

Spitting his gum out into the toilet between his legs, Cook pulled the saved silver gum wrapper from his pocket, smoothing it out before pulling a spare lighter also from his pocket. Setting both objects beside him atop the lidded receptacle attached to the stall wall, Cook glanced first at the toilet paper rolls before his eyes jumped to the cardboard box of toilet seat protectors also mounted to the stall wall. Ripping off a chunk of cardboard roughly 3x4 inches, Cook rolled it between his fingers into a long cylinder, its circumference roughly that of a drinking straw's.

Catching Katie watching him curiously, he offered a trade, handing Katie the cardboard straw as he stuck out his hand for the jacket. Katie gathered it from around her shoulders and passed it to him, flinching as the vibrations of someone rapping their knuckles against the stall door tickled her back.

"Fuck off!" Katie barked. "I'm busy!"

A voice on the other side groaned, but didn't press the matter, the sound of her feet shuffling down to the next stall to do the same. Cook did his best to keep his laughter silent as he fished a gram bag from his jacket pocket, the contents finely minced as a courtesy to his customers on-the-go.

Plucking up the gum wrapper beside him, he handed it too to Katie before instructing in a quiet voice, "Balance the crease between your fingers and pinch it at the end." He watched as Katie did so, holding it at his eye level for his approval. He seemed satisfied enough, nodding as he worked open the Ziploc of the jewelry bag, propping it open. With a finger beneath the wrapper to keep it steady, Cook tapped out a quarter of the contents, spreading it more thinly and evenly across the wrapper before sealing up the bag and slowly letting his hand drop from beneath the foil. It stayed parallel to the ground in Katie's grip as he traded the bag for his lighter, bringing it up beneath the foil wrapper without striking it, looking up at Katie.

"When I light this, you're gonna take that straw and inhale the smoke that cooms up off it, yeah? Don't bring the straw too close. Shit doesn't taste pretty if you get a mouthful. This is a quarter gram. You're gonna fink I gave you too much when it hits, but that's just how strong it is." His tone was very to-the-point and his prep talk considerately thorough.

Whatever misgivings had surfaced for Katie while waiting cramped in the very public bathroom seemed to fade away as she focused on every word of advice Cook coached. She only had one question.

"When does it hit?"

"Like a boxer; Seconds after you take your swing."

Katie nodded casually, as if she had just been given the correct answer to a math problem and not the news that in possibly fifteen seconds, she'd be somewhere she's never been, with someone she hardly knew and the heartbreak of what waited at home in the shadows of the back of her mind. Hovering the straw inches above the gum wrapper and pursing her lips to the cardboard, Katie looked on at Cook. His blue eyes held her gaze like one would hold a nervous hand.

"Ready?"

Katie nodded.

She heard the butane billow as it caught fire halfway out of the lighter, holding her breath a few seconds as the foil heated beneath Cook's steady flame, dragging back in forth at a slow but consistent pace. Katie felt the heat of the flame against her fingers and worried that any second now would be the second she dropped their whole operation. She worried so much about botching it, that she forgot what she was botching. Cook's urgent voice reeled her back.

"Now! Now!" Cook whispered, slurping on the air to mimic the thing that Katie was not doing, just in case she had forgotten. Katie snapped to and inhaled sharply, unwittingly drawing the entirety of the smoke curling around her straw straight into her lungs.

Katie didn't smoke from bongs for the very same reason. Hacking her lungs out was not the way she wanted to start her high, leaving her cotton-mouthed and sore of lung. She wasn't sure why, maybe because it was a panic pull, but she thought that surely the meth would hit her harder than any bong ever had. But besides her mouth suddenly tasting like the burnt base of an unscented cleaning product and the psychological cough she more than likely worked herself into, the meth hit dissolved quickly and pleasantly. Why had she been so worked up?

"Yeheah, there y'go, princess. Nice and easy," Cook praised in a calm whisper, keeping an eye on hers as he watched the drug take hold, dilating her pupils two sizes too large. With how deep brown her eyes were in the dark, fluorescent lighting already, Katie's eyes might as well have been black. Cook found himself fascinated and momentarily frightened, but both dissipated instantly as Katie swayed.

Cook moved to keep her upright before he even thought of doing it, but Katie had managed to sway back the other way, negating the threat of toppling. Cook lightly grabbed her upper arms, massaging them as he tried to get Katie to meet his eyes. She did after a minute of gaze-wrangling, giving Cook the largest, goofy smile.

"You're using the loo the wrong way," Katie informed Cook in a matter-of-fact tone before cracking herself up with quiet giggles.

Cook looked down in mock surprise, as if this were news, looking back up at Katie before announcing, "So I am". Katie pushed at his knee and curled into her shoulder as she laughed some more, Cook finding it harder and harder to keep his presence in the women's restroom a secret, stifling his laughter as best he could.

Cook clasped Katie's shoulder, running his thumb up and down the arch of her shoulder until he had her attention, eyes drawn to him. Her pupils made it impossible for Cook to gauge her arousal, but the hitch of her breath was all too telling. He cleared his throat and let go of her shoulder, clasping his hands together instead.

"You still got the foil?"

"Mmmhmm," Katie raised the hand with the straw up before blinking, lowering it and raising the other, fingers still pinched around the gum wrapper.

Cook reached over and scraped the residue of the spent hit into his hand cupped below, dusting it off into the toilet bowl before reaching for the jewelry bag again.

"If I'm gonna keep up wif ya, I'll need a boost too. Think you can hold that up for me, doll?"

"Sure," Katie agreed amiably, holding her hand up as Cook groomed the foil clean of soot.

Pouring twice the amount he had given Katie, Cook tapped the powder down with the edge of the Ziploc. Sealing and pocketing the rest of the drugs, Cook relieved Katie of the cardboard straw and positioned it above the foil, simultaneously positioning the lighter below. Stoking the heat evenly, Cook drew in the smoke nice and slow as it billowed, his hit growing exponentially larger as the heat spiked. Clearing the rest of the smoke before the foil could burn, Cook inhaled again, and then again, pushing the drug as deep into his lungs as possible. When he exhaled, nothing but a faint, thin line exuded.

He gathered the evidence of their makeshift inhalation system before tossing it all in the toilet. Pressing down on the lever, the toilet roared into vortex, taking everything down with it.

"Here," Cook handed his jacket back to Katie.

She refused him with a quick shake of her head and an extended palm. "I'm not cold."

"But women can be. Wear it over your head, remembuh? 'least 'til we're out of this sordid stall."

Katie mouthed a dawning "oh", accepting Cook's jacket with much more enthusiasm. Slipping the jacket on over her sheer top, she drew the collar up over her ears, turning to the lock before looking back at Cook.

"Meet you outside?"

"If no one calls security on me."

Confident that the fates would not rob her of her dance partner so early in the night, Katie smiled and turned back to the lock, stepping past Cook's knees to squeeze through the opening she had made.

"Emily?" Katie murmured as she looked up from the tile that had snagged her interest on the way out. The checkerboard pattern of maroon and yellow was arguably horrendous when sober, moreso with the speckling of dirt, drink, gum and bodily fluids of the yellow and "maroon" variety that the color scheme was no doubt trying to disguise. Altered, however, Katie figured she could have watched the gently breathing ground beneath her feet for hours, had her twin not been gawking back at her the moment she looked up.

"I never lent you that top. Who said you could borrow it?" Katie demanded as she approached. But suddenly so was Emily, matching her step for step, stopping as Katie stopped in her confusion as to why Emily would be charging after her. What did she do wrong besides wear it better?

"Who you talkin' to, babe?" Cook's disembodied voice asked from beyond the stall, the sound of his feet hitting the ground.

Looking back over her shoulder in time to see Cook's fingers wrap over the top of the stall door and his head peek out of the small crack he had made, Katie pointed directly in front of her.

Cook looked hard in the mirror, eyes bouncing between the reflection of himself and Katie before grinning with the dawning that hadn't quite reached Katie yet. Stepping out of the stall, Cook situated himself behind Katie, putting a hand on either of her shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze as he craned his neck down to talk beside her.

"Look again," he prompted, eyes on the mirror, watching Katie's reflection as she looked back at herself and Cook, a trace of confusion passing through her eyes. She shrugged one shoulder, then the other, before pulling the most unexpected, contorted face she could muster in the moment. Her reflection made it right back, causing her to startle before a single, loud note of laughter pushed from her lungs.

"Coom on, let's get you dancin'," Cook persuaded gently, leading Katie out of the women's restroom, narrowly avoiding a collision with someone entering. Before the shocked and disgusted woman could do a double take, Cook had squeezed he and Katie out of the narrow hallway and back into the heart of the club.

Leading them out onto the dance floor, Cook sank their anchor deep into the thick of the crowd, squaring his shoulders in an attempt to claim and maintain the swatch of dance floor he intended to cut for Katie's enjoyment. As soon as they were fully assimilated, Cook let go of Katie, watching her as he let the music pour into his ears. His body slowly echoed the beats pounding around them, first in the sway of his shoulders and then in the pop of his chest.

Katie gave his warm-up a once over before smiling, reaching her arms above her head as if she were reaching for the sound itself before her wrists cascaded down across her face and neck, her hips counteracting the fluid motion with a controlled, pendulum sway.

Cook concentrated less on the music and more on Katie as her body motions slowly grew larger and more elaborate and suddenly it wasn't the tempo that kept his body in sync, but the desire to speak Katie's language, movement for movement.

It wasn't long before Katie made it all the easier for Cook, slyly dancing her way beside him, their hips like magnets as Katie's hips rolled her back into Cook's front, her arms snaking up once again to wrap around Cook's neck, fingers splaying up along his nape and into his hair. Cook's arms rested at her hips as their centers of motion shifted and married.

It struck Katie odd in the moment, especially considering how conscious she was of her own pulse deep within her stomach, that the stirring she felt from Cook did not come from below the waist, but above the neck. His hot breath felt simultaneously icy as it played against the sheen of sweat below her jaw. The suggestive push and pull of his strong, calloused hands against her hips, seeking to deepen the motions they were already committed to made her feel right, like a working cog in an intricate watch, grinding away the minutes until she would ascend from fragment to whole and time became hers not just to keep, but to dictate.

They danced for what seemed like only minutes, Katie always remembering that they had taken breaks to drink water only when Cook pulled them from the dance floor to the bar for just the occasion. The moment they stepped back into the singular, cavorting mass, Katie would forget again, remembering only music, only movement and only how wonderful it felt to be wanted, Cook never so much as a finger's length away.

The dance floor thinned as the hours of darkness grew friendlier to the thought of dawn. The bouncers and bartenders making their rounds dutifully announced last calls, cycling back around with fifteen minute warnings, and then again, to the hard of hearing, to push them in the direction of the door.

Katie stood her ground, staring down the bartender that had happened upon them purposefully, the forty dollar tip Cook had closed their tab with spurring him to see them out without the use of a bouncer's force. She wasn't even sure what the bartender was saying, his words directed to Cook, who nodded as if he understood. She only knew they weren't dancing, and suddenly, that Cook was leading her towards the exit, away from the nearly-empty dance floor.

It had just become their private paradise and now he wanted to walk away? She dragged her heels in protest until the music cut off and suddenly the spell was broken. Free of the beats demanding she dance, she grew excited over the prospect of a scenery change, now curious where they would find themselves next.

* * *

It hadn't taken long to hail a taxi, even at four in the morning. Even still, in the seven minutes they had waited in the cold they barely felt, the energy Katie had been expending on dancing turned inward, causing her to pick at the dirt beneath her fingernails. When Cook held her hand to prevent her from shoving her thumbnail too far deep beneath the others, she started to tap her foot. Leading her into the back of the taxi, Cook wondered how long it would take before the tweaking set in.

"How you holdin' up?" Cook asked as he leaned over Katie to reach for her seat belt, drawing it over her chest before securing it, securing his own in a fraction of the time as he settled in the middle seat beside her.

Katie ran her hands up and down her upper arms, lightly dragging her fingernails across her skin. She answered as if she hadn't heard Cook at all. "Where are we going?"

"My place. You alright, Katie?"

She smiled at Cook and nodded, the pressure of her nails increasing, sowing long, pink rows over her biceps.

Not wanting to draw attention to the action, not entirely convinced Katie was even aware she was doing it, Cook took another route in persuading her to desist, something that wouldn't draw attention to the quickly-forming habit. Anchoring his large palm atop Katie's exposed knee, Cook traced his thumb up and down with massaging pressure. He watched as Katie's eyes lulled closed, her hands stuttering before slowing, her breath doing the same.

Throwing a look at the taxi driver, pleased to see that the night owl was a dutiful one with eyes ever on the road, Cook shifted in his seat closer to Katie until they were shoulder to shoulder, his side flushed to hers. He continued to trace his thumb along her skin, traveling upward at a glacial pace. The further he ventured, the less Katie scratched. It wasn't until the heel of his palm grazed the hem of Katie's skirt that they both came to full stops, Katie's head lulling back just the slightest as her lips popped open with a quiet, but sharp inhale.

Cook was practically swimming in the scent of Katie's perfume, his gaze honing in on the quickened pulse beating visibly in her throat. Her parted lips beckoned him to taste and even her flushed skin was a testimony to how mutual their cravings were becoming. Or. It was all just a reaction to the drugs. It was the only thought keeping Cook at bay.

"Here we are," the taxi driver announced, stopping the meter before rapping his finger against the display.

Cook withdrew his hand from Katie's thigh, arching his hips upward momentarily to work the wallet from his back pocket. He squinted at the numbers of his total before counting out a handful of bills, slapping it down on the front seat armrest in front of him. "No change. Thanks, mate," he mumbled, unlatching his seat belt before scooting to the other end of the car.

"Katie?" Cook looked back at her, having yet to hear her own seat belt unfasten. Her eyes opened, staring at Cook through a haze. "Coom on, we're here."

* * *

She couldn't remember the walk upstairs, or if they had taken an elevator, or really what their taxi driver had even looked like, if she could be certain a taxi had dropped them off in the first place. What she could remember was the cold of the night air nipping at her skin, pulling Cook's jacket tighter around her shoulders, pulling Cook to the side of the stairwell, lips finding his neck, the stubble of his jaw prickling her mouth . . .

Okay, so they had taken the stairs. But that wasn't why she was winded.

Cook fumbled with his keys blindly in one hand, his other firmly planted at Katie's hip, pressing her against the very door he was trying to unlock, teeth at her collarbone as Katie cupped and massaged the bulge in Cook's jeans. With a satisfaction undoubtedly made deeper given the circumstances, Cook's third attempted key at the lock slid in neatly. With a twist, he undid the lock, wrapping his arm around Katie's waist, stepping back and pulling her with him away from the door just enough to open it and let them spill through.

"Shhh, shh, shhhh," Cook urged, having to take Katie by the shoulders and physically separate the two of them, holding her in place before pointing toward the couch where he had caught a cascade of blonde draped over the armrest upon entering. As Katie looked to see Naomi sleeping on the couch, Cook took the pause to quietly shut the door behind them, locking and dead-bolting it before jerking his head in the direction of the bed, only slightly partitioned from the rest of the studio apartment by mismatching room dividers.

Taking Cook's hand, Katie bee-lined for the mattress without so much as a word, undoing her oversized hoop earrings to place on the nightstand, kicking off her heels before collapsing into the clean, but worn bedding. Sitting up, she navigated on hands and knees to the foot of the bed, tucking her calves beneath her before beckoning to Cook with a curl of her finger.


End file.
